Perfect World
by cousinjean
Summary: 9 & 10 added. Now complete! A slip of the tongue creates a whole new world of problems for Spike. Picks up about 4 months after Grave.
1. Home Is Where the Hurt Is

Perfect World  
Part One: Home Is Where the Hurt Is  
by cousinjean 

  


__

Summary: A slip of the tongue creates a whole new world of problems for Spike. Picks up about 4 months after "Grave."

Spoilers: Everything through S6 is fair game, with a vague awareness of rumors about S7.

Rating: R 

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions. What happens to them is the product of my own fevered and obsessive imagination.

A/N: I know this looks like another one of those "Spike's back from Africa" fics, but it's not. This is one of those big, epic, plotty stories that has been stewing in my brain for much longer than Spike has had a soul. Although the soul added a whole new layer to the idea that made it too interesting to ignore. 

If you don't like works in progress, don't read this yet. Though I'm working on this every chance I get, my main writing priorities are currently Dancing Lessons and my novel. So updates will be pretty sporadic. 

Thanks to Abby, JRS, fenwic and adjrun for letting me think out loud about this story in various chats. It really helped shape the plot. Thanks to them as well as Aurelio Zen and Fiona for the betas, feedback and insights. I {heart} my beta readers.

*

Darkness cloaked the house. Not a single welcoming light on anywhere -- not even a candle in the window. Girls had gone out without turning on the porch lights again. Dangerous, that. Any number of nasties could be lying in wait for an ambush. This yard offered too damn many places to hide. He should know. He'd taken advantage of them all at one time or another. First to study his enemy, then to keep watch over the object of his affection ... and finally, to share that affection in the only place she would allow it -- in the precious months when she had allowed it -- in the shadows, where the secrets lived. Secrets, and monsters. Like him.

If he'd learned one thing in nearly a century-and-a-half on this planet, it was that the universe loved irony. He was learning to hate it. He could think of at least half a dozen ways in which his situation was utterly ironic. That the soul, which was supposed to make him a man, only made him aware of the true extent of his monstrosity was only one of them. Part of him wondered if she could somehow slay the monster but leave the man intact. That was her job, wasn't it? Maybe, if she took mercy on him, she could slay his demon a little bit at a time, chip it away until all that was left were the parts that she deemed worthy of her love. 

Bugger that. If she can't love the whole package, then sod her and her high horse. God knew the whole package loved her. 

Then Mr. Sensitive, who fancied himself the more sensible half (which Spike usually thought was a load of horse shit, but at the moment he was forced to agree), reminded him that he didn't have any room to make demands on her. They'd both be lucky if she didn't take the more direct and literal route of staking him on sight, releasing William back to wherever he'd been pulled from and sending Spike into sweet, dusty oblivion. And also? Not why he was here.

With a sigh, Spike dismounted his bike, not quite sure what to do. An all too familiar feeling for him these last few months. Nobody home, that much was obvious. He considered going 'round back and testing out his welcome on the back door, but his conscience said no. Bloody nuisance, that. He didn't think he'd ever get used to it. He started to argue that he wouldn't even have to break in, he could use the key from the false rock behind the trellis, no harm no foul; but he knew that if he found his invitation had been revoked, he'd lose his nerve. Better to wait, then.

A surge of panic hit him. What if they'd moved? What if Buffy'd sold the house? Before he could finish the thought he was on the front porch, peeking in the front door. All he could see were the stairs. He moved over to the living room window and found a crack in the curtains, through which he could see the familiar pattern on the sofa. He bent to peer inside, and if he squinted, he could make out that the picture over the fireplace hadn't changed. He closed his eyes and slumped against the house as relief washed through him. Still, he was assuming quite a lot, wasn't he? What if they'd gone out of town? To visit Giles, perhaps, or to see their dad? Even if they were just out for the night it could be hours before anybody got home. Maybe he should just go back to the crypt. At least he could say he tried.

Spike shook his head and dug out his cigarettes. He lit one as he took up vigil on the front steps. He could wait. After all, all he had was an eternity.

***

Buffy massaged her neck as she walked, trying to work out the kinks. Felt like she'd pulled a muscle. A Donehw demon, 10 feet and four hundred pounds of angry, fur-covered brawn, had blindsided her in the park. While fighting the thing Buffy had been grateful that Dawn had gone out with her friends that evening; but once she'd taken it down she hadn't been too thrilled with having to dispose of the enormous body by herself. And that was when the thought entered her brain for the first time that evening, and for the 463rd time that summer.

She missed him.

Damn. 

She didn't want to miss him. She didn't want to _think_ about missing him, or why she missed him. And she _really_ didn't want to remember why she shouldn't miss him. 

Too late. Her brain was already going places she wished it wouldn't go, thinking about things like how much harder and colder white bathroom tile felt beneath her than the concrete floor of his crypt. Or the look on his face, the pain and confusion and desperation and determination that mingled in his eyes as he held her down and oh God how she wished he'd vamped out first so she wouldn't have to associate that face with ... _that_. Or how she could have fought back harder, sooner, kept it from going that far, and she wondered if it was the same mix of shock and disbelief and misplaced trust and hope that had kept him from fighting back that night behind the police station. Buffy hated her brain, because every time she tried to think about their rare moments of tenderness, it kept bringing her back to the violence and brutality that so often defined them. And because it marred the memories of all the times she'd given it to him so freely with that of the one time he'd tried to take it by force.

She couldn't blame him for leaving. She understood why, or at least she could think of plenty of reasons why it had been a good idea. She was even relieved, not only because it kept her from having to face him, but also because Willow probably would've killed him. It was definitely for the best that he'd left. So then why did she find it so hard to forgive him for leaving? 

Buffy could almost convince herself that she hated him. That she only missed his usefulness as a slaying partner, his willingness to show up and do the grunt work. She didn't really miss _him._ But then she would go home and open up the front closet to stash her bag, and would be assaulted by the smell. _His_ smell. Old leather, tobacco, sweat, and motor oil layered over cheap bourbon and blood, with just a trace of his aftershave underneath. She'd put her hand on the well-worn leather to push it out of the way, and remember the smooth feel of his back and shoulders against her palms. 

Dawn had complained about keeping the coat at first, insisting that they should throw it out, or maybe burn it. But Buffy couldn't. She'd tried once. After everything had settled down, she'd found it in a heap upstairs, and she'd taken it straight out to the garbage. On her way back in she'd noticed that his cigarettes had fallen out of one of the pockets. She'd crouched beside them and picked them up, and turned the pack over in her hand. She'd taken one out and held it up to her nose, and inhaled the sweet tobacco. The need to taste it had overwhelmed her, so she'd put it in her mouth, carefully wrapping her lips around the filter and savoring the taste. And then it had hit her -- what she was doing, and why, and why it was wrong. She'd snatched the cigarette out of her mouth and crammed it back in the pack, then went back out to the garbage can. She wasn't sure how long she'd stood there with the garbage lid in one hand and the pack in the other, poised to throw it out with the coat ... then she'd rescued the duster, returned the cigarettes to their pocket, and hung the coat in the front closet, where it had remained ever since. If anyone asked, she'd tell them it would be rude to get rid of it. Beyond that, she tried not to think about it.

But it wasn't as if that was her only reminder. She'd be at the Bronze, or on patrol, or hell, even grocery shopping, and she'd get a whiff of cigarette smoke, or catch a glimpse of white-blond hair, and her heart would speed up and she'd turn to get a better look. Then she'd have to confront her disappointment when it turned out to be someone else.

It was always someone else. Either that, or a figment conjured up in an unguarded moment of wishful thinking. Which was why tonight she deliberately paid no attention to the motorcycle parked in front of her house. The cigarette butts littering the front walk were a little harder to ignore, as was the faint, familiar tingling of her skin that said, "Vampire!" Up the front steps, she reached into her bag and gripped her stake, because it was probably someone else. If it was him ... _he_ might be someone else.

She turned slowly to regard the figure lounging in the wicker loveseat, one leg stretched across the length of it. Smoke floated up from the glowing tip that dangled from his half-open lips to tickle her nostrils. No figment of her imagination, this. His face was only partially visible in the faint glow of the street light as he stared up at her, but he looked like he thought he saw a vision of his own conjuring. Definitely not the face of someone who'd come back for some nefarious revenge scheme.

Buffy let go of the stake and folded her arms. "Spike."

He blinked, then shook his head a little as he took the cigarette out of his mouth. "Hello, Buffy."

Buffy blinked herself. "That's it? 'Hello Buffy'? No 'Hello cutie' or 'Nice work, love' or anything else guaranteed to leave me gobsmacked?"

He fidgeted, and reached up to scratch the scar on his eyebrow as he spoke. "Kinda figured these days I could do that just by showing up."

Buffy smiled. An honest-to-goodness smile. It surprised her as much as it seemed to shock him. "Well you're right about that." 

He studied her for a minute, his head tilted just a bit in that way of his. Then he swung his leg down and faced front, sitting up a little straighter. "When did you start using words like 'gobsmacked'?"

She stared at the space beside him for a moment, but went over to lean against the porch rail instead. She shrugged. "What, you think after five years you haven't rubbed off on me?" She frowned at her choice of words. "Or, you know, something else a little less double entendre-y."

Spike grinned, and his shoulders shook in a silent laugh. Then the humor faded from his face as he leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He looked down at his boots. The boots were the same, Buffy noted. Black jeans, check. He wore one of those button-down shirts he'd taken to wearing this last year, undone at the top and drooping open a little to reveal gleaming white skin and just a hint of the muscle beneath. It was all so very Spike. Something was different, though. He hadn't touched up his roots in a while, but neither had she, so she couldn't criticize. But that wasn't it. There was something else.

"How about, 'I'm sorry Buffy'?" He looked back up at her. "That work for an opening?"

Buffy held his gaze for a good long while, studying him. She knew he meant it, that wasn't the question. She'd known he was sorry before he'd even made it out of her bathroom that night. 

"Heard that one before," she said at last. "What about, 'Goodbye Buffy'? I hear it's this thing that people are supposed to say before they disappear out of somebody's life. That could just be a rumor, though. Nobody ever actually says it to me."

Spike sighed, and smoothed his hair back with both hands as he leaned back in his chair. As his short curls sprung back into place she realized what was different. He seemed a bit softer around the edges. Not just his ungelled hair, but everything. Even his accent seemed less harsh, a touch more cultured. Just a touch, though. He still had plenty of edge. She wondered what the hell he'd been up to.

"Didn't feel right to say it," he said. "Knew I was coming back. _You_ knew I'd be back. Didn't you?"

Buffy thought about it. "I guess ... yeah. You ... you're like that cat in that song."

They both smiled a little at that.

"You always do come back," she finished softly.

"Always will, I reckon." He gave her a rueful smile. "Me moth, you flame, insert tired metaphor here. Didn't expect to be gone quite so long this time, though."

"And I'm guessing you were deep in some remote cave out in the middle of nowhere with no access to a telephone or writing implements?"

Both eyebrows shot up. "Well ... yeh. First week or so, at least."

"And after that?"

He seemed to study his hands. "Didn't expect you'd want to hear from me." He met her eyes. "Was I right?"

"Yeah."

He nodded, and looked back at his hands.

"For about the first month," she clarified. "Then I got over it, a little. It ... would've been nice. To know you were okay."

He looked at her again, his expression unreadable. "Can't say that I was." He stood up and took a long, final drag on his cigarette before dropping it and grounding it out with his boot. "I was a world away from you ... but then, that's nothing new." He leaned his elbows against the porch rail, looking out at the street, keeping a respectable distance. "Had nothing but my own thoughts to keep me company. Did a lot of thinking, too. About you, about what I did, how I could make it up to you ... how I'll _never_ ..." He stopped, and swallowed. "Believe me, I wasn't okay."

He kept his gaze fixed on the street as he spoke, and Buffy just watched him. Watched the muscle dance along his jaw, signalling his frustration. The way his profile looked in the faint light coming off of the street, the way his hair curled up at the nape of his neck, the strong line of his jaw juxtaposed with his soft mouth and the smooth curve of his neck... God, she'd missed those things. She hadn't even realized it until now. And his hands. They fiddled with each other, seeking something to do. You could see all of his strength in his hands. Large, calloused palms gave way to long, graceful fingers that could be so gentle. She loved his hands.

The same hands that had forced her to the floor and held her down.

Buffy shuddered. Spike seemed to sense her discomfort and drew further away. She glanced up to see him looking at her, pain etched in every line of his face.

"I am so sorry, Buffy. Please believe me."

"I do."

He looked a little surprised, but then he nodded. He straightened up, and took a deep breath. "Um ... I didn't come here to ask your forgiveness."

"Then what --"

He held up a hand. "Please, Love. I practiced this speech at least a hundred times. Let me get it out."

Buffy nodded. As often as he'd been her confessor after she'd come back, she figured she owed it to him to shut up and listen.

"I just ... there're a couple of things I want you to know. One is that I get it. The whole good 'n' evil thing, I mean." He nodded. "I mean, I understand why you can't love me. Why you never --" His voice tightened, and he stopped to clear his throat. Then he laughed a little. "Bloody hell, you'd think by now I could recite this by rote."

Buffy just tried to look sympathetic, and waited while he gathered himself.

"Anyway, I ... I understand it all now. I was a bleeding idiot for ever thinking you'd be happy in the dark, or that you should let yourself love a monster. 'Cause that's what I am. I ... you deserve better than that."

Buffy flashed on all of the insults hurled his way, all of the little tortures she'd inflicted on him ... her fist smashing into his face, again and again. She swallowed. "Do I?"

Spike just stared at her. "Bloody right, you do." He looked back out at the street, that muscle on his jaw flexing again. "You gave it a good try." He turned back to her. "You managed to come down to my level a few times. I don't deny that. But it almost destroyed you. That's not for you. You're better than that, Buffy."

She managed a small smile. "Thanks."

He nodded. "Uh ... the other thing I wanted to tell you is that I'm not going anywhere. I'm back now, and I'm here to stay. If you need me ... if you need help with patrol, or information, or ... I'll be here. I'm not gonna leave again."

Buffy knew he meant it. She didn't know if she should feel comforted or scared. For better or worse, Spike would be there. For her, helping her, fighting her ... loving her. A piece of that song ran through her head. _The cat came back, he didn't want to roam ..._

"You forgot your coat," she said. It sounded a little silly, as if he'd just popped home for a carton of blood or a pack of cigarettes, instead of disappearing to God knows where for four months. But it was all she could think to say.

"Right," he said. "Funny, didn't really miss it."

"It's in the closet. You ... you want to come in?" A load of tension slid out of her along with the invitation. Maybe they could go inside and do something normal and mundane, something that didn't require either of them to think or talk too much. Out here, all there was to do was think and talk. "I could make some tea."

His face lit up. "Figured I'd worn out my welcome."

"Nope," she said, going to unlock the front door. "It's still good as new." She went inside, and he paused at the threshold, as if not quite believing her, before following her in. She opened the closet to put away her bag, and pulled the coat out. It felt funny, taking it out again, knowing it wouldn't be there the next time she opened the door. "Here you go," she said as she handed it to him.

"Thanks." He draped it over his arm. "I, um ... I heard about Tara."

"Oh. Right."

"Sad to hear it. I liked her. She was ... kind. A lot tougher than she looked, too. Least, on the inside." A dark look passed over his eyes, then he shook it off. "How's Will holding up?"

"She's holding. At least, that's what Giles says when he calls. I haven't actually spoken to her since ..." Her voice trailed off as Spike's expression went from concerned to confused. "Wow, there's a lot to catch you up on." She waved at him to follow her as she started for the kitchen.

"Clem filled me in on some of it," he said, leaning in the doorway. "Willow got a bit out of control?"

"Well, if you can call skinning someone alive, almost killing all of your friends and then trying to destroy the world 'a bit,' then, yeah." She took the kettle over to the sink and filled it.

"Huh. Y'know, I always knew she could make a hell of a big bad." He sounded more sad than appreciative. "I should've been here."

"No." Buffy set the kettle down and turned to face him. "You wouldn't have made a difference. Tara and I got shot in broad daylight --"

Spike's head snapped up. "You got shot?"

Buffy tried to shrug it off. "I lived. Tara didn't. Willow ... she just lost it. Went completely nuts, and she was _so_ powerful ... she would've killed you, Spike. She would've, like, vaporized you with her mind or something." She shuddered. "Anyway, Xander managed to talk her down, and then Giles took her to England for some kind of magical detox. Xander went to visit her this week. He should be back to--"

The back door opened. "Sorry I'm late," Dawn said. Buffy glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes past her curfew. Buffy hadn't even noticed. "Justin's house is on the other side of the river, and on the way back we had to stop for the drawbridge..." Her eyes landed on Spike. 

He grinned, coming all the way into the kitchen and discarding his coat on the counter. "'Lo there, Niblet."

Her eyes went wide and her mouth lit up in a smile. "Spike!" She took a step towards him, then stopped herself as her features hardened into a carefully practiced cold stare. "What are you doing here?"

"He came to talk," Buffy said.

Dawn crossed her arms. "Is that all? Sure you didn't come to finish the job you started last time you were here?"

"Dawn!"

Spike's grin gave way to a look of stunned disbelief. He looked at Buffy.

She sighed. "Xander told her what happened."

"Right," Dawn said. "I had to hear it from Xander. Because Buffy didn't think I needed to know that my big hero was really a rapist."

"Dawn, that's enough."

"Oh, really? Because I don't think it's ever gonna be enough."

Spike looked desperate for something to do with his hands. Finally, he shoved them in his pockets. "Dawn, I --"

"Don't. Don't _even._ God, I can't even stand to look at you." She started to leave the kitchen, but stopped. "I've been reading up on how to do the disinvite spell myself. So don't think that just because there aren't any witches around anymore that you can just come and go whenever you feel like it." Dawn stormed out of the kitchen. After a moment, her feet pounded up the stairs.

Spike stood for a long moment, frozen in place, before finally letting out a long sigh.

"I'm sorry," Buffy said. "She just --"

"No, don't," Spike said. "I had it coming."

Buffy offered him a weak smile. "Nobody deserves the wrath of Dawn."

He shook his head. "I'm just grateful that didn't come from you." He reached for his coat. "I'd best be going." His hand hit a vase and knocked it over, spilling acrid water all over the counter. "Shit!" He scrambled to move the mail out of the way.

"It's okay," Buffy said, grabbing a towel. As she mopped up the water, she repeated to herself, "It's okay." She turned around to the sink and wrung out the towel. "Here, just put anything that got wet over --"

She heard the kitchen door open again, just as the tea kettle started to whistle. When she turned around, he was gone. 

Buffy took the kettle off the burner, then went over to shut the door. She turned and slumped against it. Her eyes landed on his forgotten coat. With another sigh, she picked it up, shook off the water, and went to hang it back in the closet.

***

Spike hung his head over the wash basin and poured the jug of water over his scalp until the stinging sensation stopped. Satisfied that he'd rinsed enough, he sluiced the excess water out of his hair and reached for a towel. Instinctively, he looked around for a mirror; then he rolled his eyes at himself and smirked. "That's right. Still a vampire. Get used to it already." He squirted some gel into the palm of his hand and ran it through his hair, slicking back his curls until they felt straight. Then he grabbed a black tee-shirt out of the trunk, pulled it on, and smiled. He was beginning to feel like his old self again.

_Is that really such a good thing?_

_Sod off, you. Bleached roots are not the harbinger of all things evil._

Spike groaned and headed over to his refrigerator. He wondered if it would always be like this, his every conscious thought at war with William the Bloody Irritating. He'd invited the git back in, you'd think the least he could do was shut up and give Spike a moment's peace once in a while.

_Do you really think you deserve even a moment's peace?_

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, and resisted the urge to smash something. Instead he settled for yanking the refrigerator open with excessive force. After taking a moment to ponder the contents, he decided he felt like chicken. As he reached for the container of blood marked "C" his eyes fell on a bottle of vodka he'd stashed there last spring. He pulled that out too, but he hesitated about topping off his breakfast with a shot. Anywhere else in the world he could get sloshed and enjoy his oblivion in peace. Here in Sunnydale, that never ended well. He sighed and put the bottle back in the fridge.

He still had his head in the fridge when he heard his front door slam open. "Yep, you're definitely home, Spike," he muttered. He stood up and shut the refrigerator. "Evenin', Pet." He smiled and started to turn around. "Didn't expect you to come calling quite so s-- oh." Not Buffy. Dawn. She stood there, hand on hip, exuding attitude and barely-contained fury. Spike felt his heart swell a little at the sight of her. She was cut from Big Sis's cloth, all right. He swallowed. "Little Bit. Something I can do for you?"

"Don't call me that."

He nodded. "Sorry. Dawn." He pointed at his chair. "Have a seat? I was hoping we'd get a chance to talk --"

"I just brought your coat," she said. Spike noticed for the first time the black bundle in her hand.

"Um, thanks. That was right thoughtful." He moved out from behind the tomb.

She took a step back. "I didn't do you any favors. I just didn't want it in my house any more." She threw it on the chair. "And I don't want you using it as an excuse to come back."

Spike hung his head and sighed. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Dawn."

"Too late."

He looked back up at her. Her mask was slipping, revealing the pain he'd caused her.

_No_, he answered his earlier question, _I don't deserve any peace._

"I meant physically, Pet. Still got the chip, couldn't hurt you if I wanted to. And I _don't_ want to."

She scoffed and took a step forward, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "What, you think I'm afraid of you? Buffy's been training me. I know how to handle myself against a vampire."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "That right?" He began to circle her, sizing her up. "Care to show me what you got?"

Her bravado faded a little. "What, you mean fight you?"

Spike came round to stand in front of her and shrugged. "Don't know that it'll be much of a fight, what with me not being able to hit back. Doesn't mean I can't block you, though. Come on, Bit, give it a go. 'Less of course you're all t-- ow! Bloody hell!"

She'd popped him in the nose. Not hard enough to do any real damage, but enough to sting.

"I _said_ don't call me that!" Her face was all screwed up, like she was trying to keep from crying.

Spike stopped rubbing his nose and dropped his hands to his sides. "That the best you can do?"

Dawn hit him again, a body blow this time. He instinctively rolled with it, not that it had enough force to really hurt him.

"Come on, Sweetness, you can do better than that."

"Shut up!" She lit into him, a series of punches and jabs as she screamed at him. "You don't get to call me that! Not after what you did to Buffy! Not after you ran off!" Her punches gave way to pounding on his chest. "You made us care about you! You made us think you cared about us! You said you loved Buffy! You promised her you'd protect me!" Her blows started to lose steam and her shoulders shook with sobs. 

Spike put his arms around her and pulled her to him. She struggled for a moment, but then sagged against him. He held her while she cried herself out. When she could speak again, she said, "I thought you loved us."

"I do, Pet. Believe me, I do."

"Then why did you do that?"

"I --" He shut his eyes and groaned in frustration. "I don't have an easy answer." He let go of her and motioned for her to go sit down while he looked around for something she could dry her eyes with, finally settling on paper towels. He tore a couple off of the roll and took them over to her. "I've got about a dozen excuses," he said as he handed them to her. He hopped up on the tomb across from her and waited while she blew her nose. "But it all boils down to me being a demon. The chip doesn't make me a good person, Dawn. Doesn't even make me a person."

"Bull."

Spike blinked at her. "Pardon?"

"If that was about you being a demon you would've just tried to bite her or something."

He considered this. "Maybe. But part of being a demon means having a lot of rage, and there was nothing in me to keep it in check. And I thought ..." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know what I was thinking. I screwed up. And I'm sorry. Buffy knows I'm sorry. I know that doesn't fix anything, or change what I did, but I am. And I'm sorry for taking off like that, without saying goodbye. I never ... I didn't mean to hurt you. I just ... I had to make sure that it would never happen again. And it won't. I promise you that."

"How can you be so sure?" Dawn twisted the paper towel up, keeping her eyes on it instead of Spike. "I mean, if the chip doesn't work on Buffy, how do you know you won't hurt her again if she makes you mad?"

"I just know. Okay?"

Now she looked at him. "No. Not okay. How are we supposed to trust you if you keep all these secrets? You haven't even said where you went."

"I went to Africa. That's no secret."

"Africa? What the hell did you do there?"

"Long story." He gave her a small, ironic smile. "Guess you could say I did a bit of soul searching."

Dawn let out a short laugh. "So, did you find it?"

"Um. Well, yeh."

She looked stunned. "You mean you ... really?"

Spike nodded, and hopped off the sarcophagus. "Yup. Old Billy Boy has moved back into his old digs." He went to retrieve his breakfast from atop the fridge. "We make quite the odd couple."

"Whoa," Dawn said. She stared at him like he'd sprouted a third eyeball. "How come you're not all broody and depressing like Angel?"

Spike thought about this as he sipped his blood. "Don't know," he said at last. "I expected I would be." He shrugged. "Maybe it's 'cause I've got too much common sense. No use in sitting around and beating myself up. 'Specially not when I've got you to do it for me." He winked at her. She gave him a sheepish little smile and looked back down at the paper towel her hands were busy mutilating. "Or maybe," he continued, "it's 'cause I'm not all cursed. I won my soul, fair and square. Which means I get to keep it."

Dawn looked back up at him. "Really?"

He nodded. "No danger of me losing it and turning on you. Not that I would if I did. Loved you before the soul, didn't I? Nothing's changed in that respect."

She smiled a little, but then turned all business-like. "How did you win it?"

"Passed a test."

"What kind of test? I mean, I take it it wasn't a written?"

Spike shrugged. "Just your standard mortal combat scenario, with a bit of endurance on top. Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Um ... listen, Dawn. That part, about me being all soul-having, that is a secret, all right? Between you and me."

Dawn wrinkled her brow. "Why? I mean, Buffy has this whole big thing about you not having a soul. Don't you want her to know?"

He nodded. "Eventually. When the time's right. If I told her now, I don't expect she'd believe me."

She cocked her head to the side and regarded him, the attitude sliding back into place. "Why should I believe you?"

"No reason you should, I s'pose. Not like it's something I can prove, is it?" He set his glass down and met her gaze, and held it, waiting.

"I believe you," she said at last.

He nodded. "Thanks, Bit."

Dawn stood up and went over to hug him. He still wasn't used to this sort of thing, and tried not to feel awkward as he squeezed her back.

"I'm so glad you're home," she said, and let him go. "Buffy is too, I think. I mean, I probably shouldn't tell you this. But ... she missed you. She didn't really talk about it, but I could tell."

Spike smiled. That was more than he'd dared hope for.

"I should go," she said. "It's my night to cook dinner while Buffy patrols."

"Right, then. Off you go." She started for the door, but he called after her, "So, if I come back to your house, am I gonna need a fresh invite?"

Dawn looked back at him and rolled her eyes. "No. I forgot all about the disinvite spell until I saw you last night. I don't have a clue how to do it."

Spike laughed, but then he gave her a stern look. "Well, that doesn't mean you shouldn't learn. Just so long as your mojo stops there."

Dawn smiled. "See you, Spike."

"See you," he replied as she walked out the door. 

Well. That had gone better than expected. He gulped down the rest of his breakfast, then retrieved his coat from the chair, held it up and shook it out. "Hello, old friend. Long time no see." After considering it a moment, he pulled it on. He'd expected it to feel comforting, like slipping into your own bed after a long absence from home, but it felt heavy. Just wasn't used to it after so many months without it, he reckoned; but it was more than that. He could see that last Slayer's face, plain as day, as he choked the life out of her. 

Spike sighed, and started to take the coat off, but then stopped. He needed the pockets to stash weapons, and even if his Big Bad image was becoming ever more a false one, no sense in telling his enemies that. And maybe by wearing her coat to fight the good fight, he could make it up to her somehow.

He settled it back on his shoulders, then went over to his weapons chest and loaded up before heading out into the night. Just because Buffy didn't ask him to patrol with her was no reason she should face the monsters alone.

***

Lights were on in the Magic Box, even though the sign on the door said, "Closed for renovations. Come back on Labor Day for our Grand Reopening!" Spike tried the door anyway, but it was bolted. So he knocked. After a moment the door opened, and Anya peeked out at him. "Oh. It's you."

Spike nodded cordially, if a bit stiffly, trying to ignore the sudden awkwardness he felt. "Pet. Can I come in?"

She opened the door a little wider, but stood in his way. "Why are you here? I'm not having sex with you again."

His mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile. "Yeh, I get that a lot. But, not why I'm here."

Anya seemed to deliberate a moment before finally moving out of his way and letting him inside. "It's not that it wasn't pleasurable," she said as he entered. "I mean, if circumstances were different, I wouldn't mind having you for an orgasm friend. But people would get hurt, and angry, even if they don't actually have a right to get angry, and it would just be more trouble than it's worth, and you should have told me it was Buffy!"

Spike spun around to face her. "What?"

"The girl who broke your heart. I ... I thought it was that skeevy girl everybody said you brought to the wedding. If I'd known it was Buffy ..."

He sighed. "Yeh. I know."

Anya frowned, and went back behind the counter. "She was my maid of honor," she said as she began unpacking artifacts from a box. "I didn't want to hurt her. And besides, now that I'm a vengeance demon again I really don't need the Slayer to have a reason to hate me."

"Does she? Hate you, I mean."

Anya shrugged. "She doesn't say she does. The one time we talked about it she said she didn't blame me. But I haven't really seen her that much."

"Oh, she hasn't been coming 'round to train?"

"Willow destroyed the training room. Buffy hasn't been by to tell me if she wants to have it restored. She was starting to be my friend, you know. _My_ friend, not just Xander's."

Spike shoved his hands in his pockets and hung his head. "I'm sorry, Anya."

She nodded, but then rolled her eyes and sighed. "It's not your fault. I'm the one who got you drunk. Besides, what's done is done. We can't -- hey! You really are sorry, aren't you?" She stared at him, and looked him up and down. "How did you get a soul?"

***

Xander parked across the street from the Box, and took a deep breath before getting out of the car. It had been a rough week. England had been cool, what little he'd seen of it. Willow hadn't felt like going out much. Mostly they'd hung out at Giles's, watching the BBC and drinking Guinness and, on occasion, talking. She was beginning to act like her old self again. Her old, pre-magic self. Make that her old self, sans perk. She was still so broken, though. Losing Tara like that ... Xander didn't think she'd ever get over it. Even if she somehow found a way to forgive herself for what had come after, that was a hurt that would last a lifetime.

On the plane back, he'd made a decision: he wouldn't lose Anya, vengeancey demon powers be damned. She meant too much for him to let pride stand in the way of getting her back. He'd do whatever it took.

He reached the shop door and raised his hand to knock, but then dropped it. He wasn't sure what he could say that he hadn't already said to her. But he had to try. He moved over to the window, hoping that the sight of her would fortify his nerves. There she was, the demon that could make him feel like a worthwhile human being. She was so beautiful, the way her face lit up as she talked animatedly to ...

To a lying, thieving, murdering rapist. Well, hey. On the up side, at least they weren't having sex. Yet.

His mission forgotten, Xander turned around and went back to his car.

***

"Long story," Spike said.

"Are you cursed? Did you go eat a gypsy?"

"No."

"Good," Anya said. "Because _that_ would've been stupid." She smiled appreciatively. "Those gypsies could teach me a thing or two about vengeance, let me tell you."

"Yeh," Spike said. "So anyway --"

"Anyanka, what should I do with this case of cyclops eyes?" Halfrek came in from the back. She stopped short when she saw Spike. "Oh, hello!"

"Just put them on the table," Anya said. "I'll have to clear a space for them. Hallie, you remember Spike."

Halfrek smiled. "Of course I do. So, didja come back so you and Anyanka could wreak some more horizontal 'vengeance'?" She winked at him.

"Not funny, Hallie."

"Oh, relax," she said as she set her crate down. "I'm just funnin' ya."

"Actually," Spike said, "I just came by to get the lowdown on any big evil that might be lurking about. Figured this was still Scooby Central. But since it's not, I'll be going. I'll, uh, let myself out the back. Ladies." He nodded at them both and headed for the back exit.

"Lovely to see you again," Halfrek called.

Anya followed him as far as the door to the back room. "Do you ... do you want me to tell Buffy? About your soul?"

Spike stopped at the exit, his hand on the doorknob. _Yes. We could do that. We could go right now, find her on patrol, or maybe go to her house ... Right. Brilliant plan, Spike. Take the demon you cheated with to try and help you win back the girl you love. That's sure to go over splendidly._

Not that he'd cheated, really. You had to be in a relationship before you could cheat. Didn't you?

Spike turned to Anya. "Thanks, Pet, but I think it should come from me." Anya nodded, and went back into the shop. Spike went out the door.

The first blow hit him in the gut. He doubled over, clutching his stomach. The second caught him in the back of the head. Spike dropped to his knees. He was ready for the third. He heard the whistle as whatever he was being bludgeoned with sliced through the air. He reached up and blocked it with his right hand, punching with his left. As he connected with his attacker's ribs, white-hot pain ripped through his skull, making him scream as he collapsed to the ground.

"Well, at least we know you didn't take off to get dechipped."

Spike rolled onto his back and squinted through his hazy vision. Xander stood over him, weilding a tire iron. At least it wasn't a stake. "Harris --"

"Shut up!" Xander kicked him in his side. Spike tried to roll with it, and got to his knees. The iron hit him between the shoulder blades and knocked him back to the ground. "Stay down!"

"I don't want to fight you, Harris," Spike said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, that's rich. Like we both don't know you'd kill me if you didn't have that chip."

"I wouldn't -- aah!" Xander pounded on him again. He raised the iron for another blow, but Spike caught it on its way down and tore it out of Xander's grip. He flung it down the alley, where it clattered and then skidded along the pavement until it hit the Dumpster.

That didn't stop Xander. He grabbed Spike by the collar and hauled him up. "You shouldn't have come back here, Spike." He slammed him into the wall of the shop. "You think I'm gonna let you do that again?" He punched him, hard. A couple of years of construction work had put some serious muscle on the boy. "You think I'm gonna let you do to her what you did to Buffy?!" He hit him again, kept hitting, blind rage taking over as he pummelled Spike.

The shop door opened. "Oh my God! Xander, stop!" Anya grabbed his arm and tried to pull him off of Spike. Halfrek came out behind her and helped to restrain him.

Xander shook them both off and stood back, glaring at Anya. "You're protecting him?"

"He hasn't done anything, Xander!"

"No? What about trying to rape my best friend? That doesn't count as something? And let's not forget about the century of murder and mayhem. But then," he motioned back and forth between them, "I guess you demons gotta stick together."

Anya's look was pure fury. "Go. Away."

Regret flashed across Xander's face. "An--"

"GO!"

He let out a frustrated sigh, then looked back at Spike. He pointed at him. "Your days are numbered this time, Pal." He turned and stalked out of the alley.

Spike closed his eyes and slumped against the wall. Two sets of hands wrapped around his arms to support him. "Let's get him back inside," Anya said.

"He'll need some blood," Halfrek said. "He should go home."

Anya sighed. "You're right. Let me go get the lights and secure everything, then we can take him."

"No, no, I'll take him. You go take care of your little shop. William and I will be just fine."

"You're sure? You know the way to his crypt?"

"Mm hm. I'll get him there, safe and sound. No worries!" She wrapped Spike's arm around her shoulders and started dragging him down the alley. "Come on, William. Don't tell me a mere human hurt you that badly. Move your feet." Spike willed his legs to move. Eventually, they cooperated. "There you go. Halfrek's gonna take good care of you. Then we'll see if we can't take care of that insensitive lug that Anyanka's got such an inexplicable soft spot for."

***

Buffy had her hand on the front door when she heard a car screech to a halt in front of her house. She turned to see Xander getting out, and smiled. "Hey!" She bounced down the steps and ran to meet him halfway on the front walk. "How was your trip?"

"The trip was fine," he said. "Willow's about as well as you'd expect." He grunted as Buffy wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed. "Watch it, Buff. The ribs are a little tender."

She pulled back to look at him. "What's wrong? Willow didn't --"

"No! Nothing like that."

She nodded and started to turn around, but saw his hand. A couple of his knuckles had split and were bleeding. "Were you fighting? Did something attack you?"

"Not exactly."

"Come on. Let's go take care of that." She started for the house. 

On the porch, Xander hung back. "Buffy, there's something you need to ..." He took a deep breath, then spat out, "Spike's back."

Buffy just looked at him. "Uh huh."

Xander stared at her, obviously not satisfied with her reaction. "What, you mean you knew? Were you planning on telling me?"

"Uh huh."

"When?"

She kept staring at him. "Um, when I saw you again, after you got back from England. Which would be right now."

He closed his eyes and nodded. "Right. Sorry. I'm just ... still a little thrown by it."

Buffy gave him a sympathetic smile. "That's understandable. Come on." She opened the door and went inside. "Go wash your hand in the kitchen. I'd offer to feed you, but it's Dawn's night to cook."

Xander smiled. "Thanks for sparing me." He started toward the kitchen, but stopped and turned back to Buffy. He looked serious again. "When did he get back?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. A couple of nights ago? Yesterday? I didn't ask."

"Right. Because you were too busy kicking his ass to the end of your property and beyond."

She frowned. "Not exactly." She looked at his hand again, and put two and two together. "Were you fighting Spike?"

"Okay, why does your tone of voice sound like you think that's a bad thing?"

"Is he ... the chip ..."

"Oh, it's still firing on all cylinders," Xander said. 

Relieved, Buffy sighed.

"He got in a lucky punch," he continued. "Except, I don't know that he'd consider the crippling migraine that followed all that lucky. That's where the bruised ribs came from."

"And the hand?"

"He kinda ran into it with his face. A _lot_."

Buffy crossed her arms and glared up at him. "Would that be before or _after_ you saw that he can't hit back?"

Xander gaped at her. "What is _with_ you women defending that cold blooded son of a bitch? And when I say cold blooded? That's literal, remember?"

"So, what?" she asked. "You saw him, and you decided to liven up the party by punching the Spike?"

"I saw him talking to _Anya_."

She softened a little, and leaned against the stair rail. No wonder he was so wigged. "They're allowed to talk to each other, Xander."

"Oh yeah? And if Spike decides he wants seconds, and she says no, and he decides to take it anyway? Is that allowed too?"

Buffy's fists clenched involuntarily. She was so tired of him bringing that up. How was she supposed to move on if he kept throwing it in her face? "That was ... it wasn't that simple, Xander. He wouldn't do that to her."

"No? Just like you were so sure he wouldn't do anything to hurt you? Anya's a demon, Buffy. The chip doesn't work on her. If he tries to ... What's to stop him?"

Buffy folded her arms. "What do you want from me, Xander?"

"I want you to do your job!"

"You want me to go slay Anyanka?"

"What? No!"

"I see." She stood up and paced into the living room. "So _her_ I'm supposed to make an exception for." She turned back to face Xander. "But I'm supposed to somehow forget about all of the times that Spike fought alongside us and _saved our lives_, about the way he protected my sister ... I'm supposed to forget that I had an affair with him and go take him out because you're afraid he might hurt the demon _you_ love?"

Xander opened his mouth to say something, but then just hung his head. "No." He sighed, and raised his head again. "I don't expect that from you."

"Good," Buffy said, "because I can't do that." She shook her head as she leaned against the back of a chair and put her hand on her hip. "Spike screwed up. But he's sorry."

Xander laughed. "He's sorry? He actually said that?"

Buffy nodded.

"And you believed him?"

"Yes."

Xander laughed some more, and shook his head. "So that makes it _all_ okay. A century spent in slaughter? 'Sorry, my bad.'"

Buffy couldn't help but roll her eyes at the hypocrisy. She folded her arms and shrugged. "It was good enough for Willow."

Xander stopped laughing. "Willow has a soul."

A soul. Of course. And as Willow and Warren both proved last spring, that makes _all_ the difference. Buffy pursed her lips and focused on a spot on the wall, but she said nothing.

"And by the way," Xander said, "how _dare_ you compare Willow to that --"

"That what?" She snapped her eyes up to meet his. "That vampire? How dare I compare the woman with a _soul_ who backed my little sister into a corner and threatened to restore her keyness with the soulless vampire who withstood hours of torture to protect her?"

He just stared at her for a moment, then sighed. "That _rapist._" He shook his head, and turned to the door, but stopped. "You know, there was a time I could have given him the benefit of the doubt. But after that?" He pointed up the stairs. "I got nothing left but doubt. The fact that he's a vampire is just icing on the evil cake. And if you can't see that something needs to be done about it ..."

Buffy sighed. "Like what?"

Xander's shoulders slumped, defeated. "You know what? Just forget it." He opened the door and left without closing it behind him. 

Buffy went to shut it. Then she opened it again and stepped out onto the porch, just in time to see Xander drive away. She hung her head, and smiled in spite of herself at the cigarette butts that littered the porch. She went over to the wicker chair and sank down, without even thinking about it, in the same spot where Spike had sat the night before. She couldn't be mad at Xander. How could she expect him to understand what she couldn't figure out for herself?

She closed her eyes and laid her head on the back of the chair, and wished that things could be simpler.

***

Spike sipped his blood 'n' Vodka cocktail and watched Halfrek putter around his crypt, cleaning up the First Aid supplies. She prattled on about what a useless waste of skin Xander Harris was, and as Spike shifted in his chair, trying to find a spot to put all of his weight on that didn't hurt like hell, he felt inclined to agree. "Oi, Pet! Be a love and bring that bottle when you come back."

"I mean," she said, retrieving the rest of the Vodka from the fridge, "don't you just wish he'd, I don't know ... that that thick head of his would just explode?" She handed him the bottle and looked at him expectantly.

Spike regarded her for a moment, then set his glass down. "Do you know what I wish, Pet?"

"Yes?" She looked eager.

"I wish I knew why the hell you're helping me." He uncorked the bottle and took a long swig.

Halfrek rolled her eyes and sighed. "Honestly, William. Don't you recognize me?"

"Yeh, that's why I'm surprised." He sneered at her. "What with me being so far _beneath_ you." Funny, he'd thought he was long over that. It surprised him how freshly stung he felt by her rejection, even as he tried to figure out what the hell he'd ever seen in her. Maybe it was because the memory of Buffy uttering those words still cut him like a knife, and the truth behind them cut deeper still. Or maybe it was just because for William, it hadn't been that long.

Halfrek put her hands on her hips and looked down at him like he'd just spilled his milk or colored outside the lines or something. "You were a human. Of _course_ you were beneath me." She sighed. "And as flattering as your little crush was, I couldn't have you constantly underfoot, getting in my way. I had a job to do. It was nothing personal."

Spike sat up a little straighter in his chair, wincing as his bruises protested the movement. "What, you mean you were already a demon?"

"Of course. Cecily Addams was only a disguise so I could get close to ... oh, what was her name? Some widow with a little girl that her new husband paid the wrong kind of attention to. Or maybe it was her neice ..." She screwed up her face in concentration, then gave up and waved a dismissive hand. "Eh, that's not important. But I've been a justice demon for centuries. Though not as long as Anyanka ..."

Spike just blinked at her. "So, you're telling me that I ran out and got myself killed over an uppity bint who never even existed?"

"Yeah, about that ... I admit that I could've let you down more gently."

"You think?"

"I'm trying to make amends here, William. The least you could do is listen."

"Yeh? The least you can do is bite me. Oh, wait -- Dru beat you to it." He took another impressive pull from the bottle.

Cecily -- Halfrek -- whoever the bitch was ignored him. Imagine that. "The point is, I've always felt bad about that poor, sweet, deluded young man's death. He deserves some justice. And so do you. Normally I wouldn't do this for a vampire, but what with your new soul I'm sure I can find some kind of loophole. So I'm granting you a wish."

"Swell."

She crouched next to his chair. "Oh, come on. Wouldn't you just love to see Xander get what's coming to him?"

Spike looked away from her. "Wouldn't I." He polished off the rest of the Vodka.

"How about the aforementioned exploding head? Or it doesn't even have to be physical torture. I'm sure if you put that creative brain of yours to use you can come up with a more long-lasting torture."

"Yeh. Buffy'd love that."

"The Slayer doesn't have to know --"

"Forget it!" He slammed the bottle down and stood up, ignoring the pain and the slight wobbliness. "I'm not gonna help you get back at Harris for jilting Anya, so thanks for the blood 'n' sympathy, but you can sod off now." He went over to the TV set and turned it on. Letterman was coming on. He dug his smokes out of his coat pocket and put one in his mouth, then began fishing for his lighter.

Halfrek stood up. "You really don't want to hurt him? Not even a little? It's not like making a wish would set off your chip."

Spike sighed. "What I want is to give that self-righteous prat a very personal and hands-on kicking of his uptight, hypocritical, Buffy-influencing ass!" His voice rose with every word until he was into full-on rant mode. He flinched as his yelling brought back the headache, but he didn't let that stop him. "Thinks he's so much better than me. The wanker summoned a demon that incinerated dozens of people and almost killed Buffy, and does anybody hold it against him?" He shook his head. "Always shoving me around, acting all high and mighty and brave, and we all know he wouldn't dare touch me if I didn't have this chip in my head." He pointed at his temple. "But they act like he's some kind of hero for picking on a cripple. 'Cause that's what I am, y'know? Now more than ever ... and it's not like I even need the chip anymore, is it? Now I've got a soul ..." He laughed. "You know what I wish, is that I never got the bleeding chip in the first place. Then I could show that git what --"

David Letterman fell silent, and so did Spike as Halfrek's last words echoed in his head: "Wish granted." As he looked around the crypt, his jaw went slack until the cigarette fell out of his mouth. All of his stuff was gone. Cobwebs and dust coated every surface. It looked like it had the day he'd discovered it.

Spike closed his eyes and hung his head. "Bugger." 

***

_End, Part One _


	2. Welcome to Sunny Hell

Perfect World

Part Two: Welcome to Sunny Hell  
by cousinjean  
  


*

Spike squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, and then really wished that he hadn't. This was just a hallucination or something, brought on by the one-two punch of a concussion and booze. Right? Right. He stumbled forward to where his chair ought to be, turned around and, with complete faith that it would be there, proceeded to sit down.

And wound up sprawled on his ass on the concrete floor.

The pain that shot through his battered body was nothing next to the anger and panic bubbling up within. It rumbled upwards through his chest and throat and erupted out of his mouth with a roar of "Halfrek!" 

His head began to throb again. Spike forced himself to stop grinding his teeth as he climbed to his feet. Ignoring his bruises, he shifted into vampface so he could see better in the darkened crypt. He checked the shadows in the corners, behind the tombs, inside them, finding nothing but the rotted corpses that he'd relocated long ago. Something almost tripped him, and he looked down to see a flimsy sheet of plywood covering the hole that led below. Spike kicked it out of the way and dropped through the entrance, landing in a crouch on the cave floor. Standing, he held up his lighter and flicked it open. He stood in an empty cavern. No rubble, no burned up furniture, no salvaged books or supplies or various mementos of his existence piled in the corner.

Spike shoved his lighter in his pocket, then tilted his head back and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Hallie, get your ass down here!"

He waited. It had worked for Anya, hadn't it? It was worth a shot. He waited some more. Nothing.

He ran his hands through his hair, pulling it in frustration. That right, buggering bitch. She would pay for this. He waited a moment for that pang of conscience to correct him, but William agreed with him for once. They would find Halfrek, they would make her undo whatever she did, and then they would both take a great amount of satisfaction in introducing her to Spike's own brand of vengeance.

But first, how to find her? He paced the length of the cave. "Plan, Spike," he muttered. "Need a plan." He didn't even know where to begin, other than to do the only smart thing there is to do in such a crisis: go to Buffy. She'd help him figure this out. 

Buffy. And Dawn.

Shit!

Fear held him paralyzed for a fraction of a second, then fueled him as he rocketed down the tunnel in the direction of their house.

***

Spike climbed up through a manhole a block over from Revello Drive. From here he just had to cut across a couple of lawns and hop a few fences to Buffy's back yard. Slightly more difficult while holding a blanket over his head, but on a sunny day he could make the mad dash to her back door in about ten seconds. No such urgency tonight, though, so he took the long way around to the front.

This neighborhood usually boasted freshly painted houses presiding over neatly manicured lawns with carefully laid out flowerbeds, a typical suburban landscape. But tonight all of the yards were overgrown tangles of weeds and unkempt shrubbery. The houses had peeling paint and boarded up windows. The houses that still stood, anyway. Here and there he could see slabs of foundation holding up nothing but burned-out husks. "Bloody hell," Spike muttered as he took it all in. He fought to stay calm, to not take off in a blind, panicked tear to Buffy's front door.

People milled about on the sidewalks -- no, not people. Vampires. Awfully cheeky of them to be strutting around so close to the Slayer's abode. Assuming she still abided there. The urge to run to her door grew stronger, but he curbed it when he realized a couple of the vamps were coming right at him. Standing his ground, Spike reached in his pocket and clutched a stake. They stopped outside of striking distance, both standing at attention.

"Sir!" said the taller of the two.

Spike felt one of his eyebrows shoot up of its own accord. He looked at the vamps and waited.

Without meeting Spike's eyes, the tall one stepped forward. "We've been to check the traps, Sir."

"Have you now? Good on you."

The vampire glanced at him, and swallowed. "Um ... they were empty, Sir. Sabotaged. Again."

If Spike didn't know any better he'd think the git was holding his breath. He and his companion both acted scared shitless. Spike could take them both out in two shakes. He started to slip the stake from his pocket, then realized he was being watched. Glancing around, he saw other vamps, frozen in place, waiting to see what he'd do. The stake slid out of his grasp. He couldn't take on this many by himself. Then it occurred to him: they weren't readying for a fight. There was a certain air of deference about them. Deference for him. They had the attitude of ... minions. 

Spike laughed. Well, what do you know? Whatever else might be wrong with this reality, at least he wasn't the laughing stock of the vampire community any longer. 'Bout time.

He glanced back at the two vamps before him, a couple of kids who in reality probably weren't much older than they appeared. His laughter had clearly startled them. The shorter one began to laugh along, a hollow, keening sound, as though he thought it might be expected of him. Spike stopped laughing and glared at him. The fledgling's mouth snapped shut. The two of them just stood there, waiting, clearly expecting something from Spike.

The tall one stood at least three inches above Spike, but he cowered nonetheless. Spike drew himself up to his full height and stood toe-to-toe with the youngster, fixing him with his best "Say the wrong thing and I'll quite literally chew your head off" sneer. Been a while since he'd gotten to use that one. Somewhere in the back of his noggin the Victorian priss protested he was having too much fun with this. Spike told him to piss off and go compose a ruddy sonnet about the wrongness of it all.

"Traps were sabotaged, you say?"

The young vamp swallowed. "Yes sir. Those humans, they--"

"Do I really want to hear your excuse?"

"N-no, Sir."

Spike nodded. "You know what I expect you to do about it, don't you?"

The boy nodded.

"So then, why are you standing about like a bloody useless sod instead of off somewhere taking care of it?"

"Sir, I ... yes, Sir!" He and his companion walked as fast as they could without actually running away from Spike. A grin spread across his face as he watched them go. How 'bout that? He wasn't sure whether he felt more smug about his ability to intimidate or to bluff, but either way, he still had it. His steps held a little more swagger as he continued down the sidewalk.

The swagger and grin both faded as the house came into view. The porch light was on, but the windows were all painted black. The yard was an overgrown mess, same as all the others. All of Joyce's plants and the wicker furniture had disappeared from the front porch. Spike recognized his old DeSoto sitting in the driveway.

This time when the urge to run hit him, he gave in and sprinted across the front lawn, taking the front steps in a single bound before bursting in through the door.

"Buffy!"

No answer. He started up the stairs, but paused on the bottom step as something in the living room caught his eye. He stepped back down and went to stand by the open French doors. A big screen telly took up a whole corner of the room, over by the fireplace. The sofa had been replaced by a black leather sectional monstrosity that pretty well filled the rest of the room. Little knick-knacks -- porcelain unicorns and fairies and the like -- covered just about every flat surface in the room. He definitely didn't remember any of that being there last night.

A door creaked upstairs. Spike returned to the stairs and crept up them, treading as lightly as his boots would allow. As he reached the top he heard another door open. He peeked around the corner to see a small figure in a bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her head. Spike allowed himself a relieved sigh as he stepped into the hall. "Buffy."

The figure turned around and smiled. "Hey, Spikey!"

His eyes widened. "Harm?" He lunged forward and pinned her to the wall, one hand on her throat, the other holding a stake to her chest.

"Ow! What the hell are you doing?"

"What have you done with them?" he growled.

"What? With who?"

"Where are they!"

Harmony shifted into game face. "Get _off_ me!" She shoved him back into the opposite wall. She leaned against the wall, rubbing her neck and glaring at him. "I told you that if you ever pulled a stake on me again--"

"How did you get in here, Harmony?"

She straightened up and stared at him. "Are you high? We _live_ here!" Spike slumped against the wall, and Harmony's expression went from angry to concerned. "Oh my God, Spike! Look at you!" She ran over to help him stand. "You're all beat up. What happened?"

"Um ..." He was too confused and too busy trying to figure out what to tell her to protest as she led him into the bedroom. _Buffy's_ bedroom. _Exactly_ her bedroom, right down to the stuffed pig perched on the pillows. "I don't remember," he said at last.

"You don't?"

"No." Maybe he could make this work for him. "Hit my head."

She tried to push him onto the bed, but he shrugged her off. He couldn't ... he had no right to be there. Harmony stood back and put her hands on her hips. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Um." What had he wished, exactly? That he never got chipped. That had happened right after ... "I remember coming back to Sunnydale and getting jumped by a bunch of soldier blokes."

"What?" Harmony's eyes widened. "God, Spike. That was almost three years ago!"

"Right, then. Guess you'll have to fill me in on everything's happened since."

She sidled up to him. "Oh, my poor Sweet Baboo." He stiffened as she ran fingers through his hair and kissed him on the cheek. "I want to just put you to bed and take care of you until you're all better. But we don't have time."

"Why not?"

She let go of him and went over to the closet -- _Buffy's_ closet -- and rummaged through it. "You're supposed to meet with Adam in an hour. You'd better go get cleaned up."

"Adam? Who -- you mean that Franken-wanker?"

Harmony spun around and looked at him, delighted. "Hey, see? Your memory's already coming back!"

"Uh, yeah. Bits and pieces. But most of it's pretty fuzzy."

"Well, I'll have to fill you in on the way. But don't worry, the tribute's already been delivered by Josh and the boys. We didn't get much this time, though." She pouted and muttered, "Stupid resistance. Anyway, Adam's not gonna be too happy with our offering this month. You definitely don't want to say or do anything that'll make him more pissed off."

Spike nodded. "Right, then." He started for the bathroom, but stopped in the hall. He couldn't go in there. Not after ... not ever. He went back to the bedroom. Harmony had dropped her robe and was pulling on her underwear. Spike suddenly remembered what it was he'd seen in her. He turned his head away. "Harm, tell me one thing. What became of the Slayer?"

She let out a little snort as she pulled a top over her head. "Which one?"

Oh. That didn't sound good. "Buffy. What ... what happened to her?"

Harmony turned around and gave him a sympathetic look, then came over to stand in front of him. "Don't worry, Sweetie." She reached up to stroke his face. "You never have to worry about her coming after you again."

Spike swallowed. "And why's that, Pet?"

Harmony smiled the satisfied smile of one who gets to be first to deliver big news. 

"Because she's dead!"

***

He'd lived in a world without Buffy before. First hundred years of his existence, in point of fact, though that didn't count because he hadn't known what he was missing. But that last summer ... 

For one hundred and forty-seven days he'd wake up and remember. And then he'd make himself remember why he should bother getting out of bed, why he should force himself in out of the sun the next morning. Kind of ironic that his reason was named Dawn. She'd saved him from the sunrise, day after day. Harmony didn't know what had happened to her. Didn't even know that Buffy'd had a sister.

Now his world was Buffyless again; and this time, he'd killed her. Oh, he hadn't done the actual deed. In this reality, Adam had taken her out. But according to Harmony, Spike had delivered her to him. Whatever deal this reality's Spike had cut with Adam -- whatever he'd done to lead Buffy into the cyborg's trap -- had worked this time. And in exchange Spike got to be ruler of Sunnydale. Hip hoo-fucking-rah. All he had to do to keep the gig was round up a gaggle of humans and demons every month and deliver them to Adam to use as spare parts. And, apparently, show up in person to do a fair bit of toadying.

Which was where Harmony was driving him now. Ordinarily he wouldn't allow anybody else behind the wheel of his baby, but given his "amnesia" and his still somewhat less than sober state, letting her drive had seemed for the best. 'Sides, it wasn't actually _his_ car, was it? 

Harmony prattled on about something to do with traps and ambushes and some underground resistance blokes what kept causing them trouble. So, the non-vampire population was fighting back, were they? Bully for them.

But all Spike could think about was how he'd caused this mess. Buffy was dead, Dawn was who knows where, the town was in shambles, all because he was a bleeding idiot who couldn't keep his hole shut. 

He needed a cigarette. He rolled down his window just as they drove past the "Welcome to Sunnydale" sign. Spike leaned out and looked back at it. Someone had crossed out "dale" and spraypainted "Hell" over it in big, red letters. That particular nickname had never been more apt. Spike pulled back inside the car and popped a cigarette in his mouth. He started to light it, but paused before touching the flame to the tip. Something about it tasted ... familiar. And not in the stale tobacco kind of way.

He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, held it up and examined it. It was bent, the end of it crumpled as if it had been jammed into the pack without care. There was something on the filter. He leaned closer to the window to get a better look at it under the passing street lights. Lipstick. Buffy's shade.

His hands trembled a little as he fought to keep control. This pack of cigarettes had sat in his coat pocket all summer, hanging in the front closet of the Summers' home. Buffy must've taken them out and tried one. Something like that had really happened. That Buffy had really existed, and here was proof.

Spike opened his coat and carefully tucked the cigarette into the breast pocket. Determination and purpose flowed back into him, and with it, hope. He would fix this. He didn't know how, but he would find Halfrek, or Anya, or even D'Hoffryn himself, and he would get his world -- his Buffy -- back.

But first he had to go through with this Adam charade. 

Harmony pulled the car over to the side of the road. "Here we are! Just go up that hill till you see the cave entrance, and follow it down to Adam's lair."

"What, you're not coming?"

"Oh. Well, I was gonna go hang out with Genevieve and then come back to pick you up."

"You're sending me in there alone? With my memory all wonky?"

"I told you everything you need to know to fake it," she said. "I mean, I can go in if you want, but I usually don't even come with you, and when I do you make me wait in the car. And you always take a really long time. So I thought this time ..."

"Go on then, don't let my concussion ruin your evening."

Harmony sighed. "Stop being such a baby. If you want me to go in I'll go." 

Spike shook his head. "Forget it. You'd probably just bollix it all up anyway."

Harmony let out a little laugh, but her expression said that was anything but funny. "Yeah, that's _why_ you make me wait in the car. At least your amnesia let you remember that much."

Shit. He'd hurt her feelings. And what's more, he felt bad about it. He thought back on all the times he'd seen that look on her face and not given a fuck. Even taken a perverse sense of joy in it. He was still getting used to this guilt thing, but it had never occurred to him to apply it to Harmony.

"Uh ... look, Pet. I'm sorry." And he was. Not just for snapping at her, but for treating her exactly like what she'd always been to him: an easy lay, a convenient distraction, a cheap Buffy substitute. A bitter laugh escaped his throat as he realized he'd treated her just as Buffy had treated him. Worse, even, 'cause he'd truly had no feelings for the bint. At least Buffy had admitted to feeling _something_ -- even if that something was contempt, least he'd registered on her scale. He forced himself to meet Harmony's eyes. "Have fun with Genevieve. See you in a bit."

Her face brightened a little. "Okay. And Spikey, don't worry. You'll do fine. Just ... act natural."

Spike nodded, and got out of the car. Act natural. He didn't even know what natural for him was anymore. They'd be expecting the Big Bad. He could still do that. He summoned up a century's worth of fearlessness and cockiness and let it carry him forward.

He knew this place. The entrance to the old Initiative caves. Unwelcome memories began to resurface, and Spike suppressed a shudder. He held his chin high and plastered on his patented smirk. Shoulders back, head cocked just so, bit more swagger ... that's it. Big Bad never really left, did he? Just got buried for a while.

A couple of armed demons decked out in camoflauge guarded the cave's entrance. One of them stepped in front of Spike, blocking his way.

"Who goes there?"

Spike shoved his hands in his pockets and looked the guard up and down. Not a demon, he amended. Well, not all. One of Adam's creations, sewn together out of human and demon parts. The other guard was the same.

"Who's it look like?" Spike asked. "I've got an appointment with Patches, and I'm already late. He's not gonna like you making me later."

The guard gave out a low growl, but he stepped out of the way and motioned with his gun for Spike to enter. Spike blew the creature a kiss as he sauntered past. Inside the darkened cave, he let out a relieved sigh. That part had been easy enough. Obviously he had power here. Power he could use to his advantage. Had to admit, it felt good. After so many years of being good only for lending the Slayer some extra muscle, mostly ineffectual in any other way that mattered ... even William couldn't argue that it was nice to be back on top.

A light shone up ahead. Spike approached it. Another patchwork soldier took up sentry duty beside a steel door set into the cave wall. "You're late," the guard barked, and Spike's steps faltered. He knew that voice. He looked up at the creature, studied the human features that remained beneath the scaled brow.

"Finn."

"Spike." The demon-zombie formerly known as Riley Finn ran his security badge through the reader on the lock, and the door slid open. "Big Brother's expecting you."

Spike nodded and stepped inside. Franken-Finn followed. The rock walls of the cave had given way to the white sterility of the Initiative headquarters. Spike kept his cool. He wasn't Hostile 17, here to be shoved in a cage and have his head ripped open and poked around in. He belonged here. Or so these freaks believed.

He didn't mind admitting that these things made his skin crawl. Reanimated human-demon hybrids, had no business existing as far as Spike was concerned. Though technically, that's what _he_ was ... but at least he'd come by it naturally. Or supernaturally, at any rate. He wasn't some byproduct of human science run amok.

He wondered if that's how humans felt when they looked at him, knowing what he was. Demons too, for that matter. Vampires were the red-headed stepchildren of the demon world, a bastard race unwanted by either of its parents. You could endow one or two of 'em with souls, make them think and act and feel like men ... but you couldn't change what they were. Not really. You can whittle away the sharp edges from a square peg and make it squeeze into a round hole, but it's still never gonna be a comfortable fit.

Finn passed Spike and led him into a room filled with television monitors and high-tech computer equipment. Some of the monitors were turned to various television channels. Others showed different areas of the Initiative. The cages were still full, Spike noted, but it looked like there were at least as many people locked up as demons, some of them pacing around their cells, some huddled in corners, hugging themselves and rocking back and forth. Spike felt for the poor bastards. Didn't let himself feel too much, though. It wasn't real. None of this was real. He had to remember that, no matter what he saw.

The chair in the middle of the room swiveled around to reveal Mr. High-and-Mighty himself. The last time Spike had seen the pillock, he'd ordered one of his crazy-quilt pets to take Spike's head off. Hadn't actually happened here, though.

"You've been fighting," Adam observed, his voice devoid of inflection.

Spike raised tentative fingers to one of his shiners and shrugged. "Something like that, yeh. Sorry I'm late. Had to go home to wash off the blood."

The cyborg's mouth quirked up in a smile. "Yours, or the other guy's?"

Spike lifted an eyebrow. "When did you get programmed with a sense of humor?"

"I am programmed to evolve," Adam said, "as you well know."

"Right."

Adam's gaze never wavered. Spike felt like the bastard could see every individual molecule he was made out of. Probably could. He ignored the chill that ran up his spine.

"Your tribute this month was under quota," Adam said.

Spike tried to recall all that stuff Harmony had told him. "Yeh, sorry 'bout that. The, um ... the traps were tampered with. A lot of 'em got away."

"This is becoming an increasing problem."

Spike nodded. "So I'm told."

Adam tilted his head, regarding Spike like some kind of rare specimen. "Your increased reliance on these traps is curious. You are vampires. Hunting humans is what you were made for, is it not?"

Spike's mouth twitched at the corners. "Well, that's what I keep saying, at any rate."

Adam nodded. "You will remedy this problem. Or I will find someone who will."

"No worries," said Spike. "Consider it remedied. So, that it?"

Adam seemed to deliberate for a moment. "One of the specimens you brought me has cancer of the colon. He will be of no use in my army, but he should prove fascinating to study. For that, you may still receive your bonus." He waved a hand at Riley and swiveled back to face the monitors.

Bonus? This should be interesting. Spike turned to follow Finn out of the room, but Adam called him back.

"You've acquired a soul," he said.

Bugger. "What of it?"

"Curious."

"Yeh, I'm all special and what-not these days. You gonna stick me in one of your cages now, see what makes me tick?"

"Not necessary," Adam said. "I believe I learned everything that could be learned from the last one."

Spike let this sink in. Well. Add Angel to the body count, then.

"Right to the end, he kept saying how he and his friends were going to take me down. It seems his soul made him altruistic. Has yours had the same effect?"

Spike snorted. "Right. What do you think, mate? You know what they called me back when I was human?"

"William the Bloody."

"That's right. You think I picked up that monicker by sitting around and scribbling poetry or some such?"

"No, I suppose not."

"'Course not. I am a killer, and I have always been a killer. The soul didn't make a difference before, and it makes no difference now."

Adam nodded. "Good to know." Without another word, he turned back to his monitors.

Spike felt a claw on his arm. "This way, killer." Finn led him out into the corridor. Spike tried to keep his eyes straight ahead as he was escorted through the detention area. He could feel the humanity all around him, pressing in on him. It's not real, he reminded himself. He'd make it right for them, give them back their real lives that he'd stolen from them.

Even so, his eyes were drawn to one of the cages. It held a girl with long, blonde hair, pacing back and forth, dragging her head against the glass and tracing a pattern with her fingers as she went. As he walked past she raised her head to look at him. Spike's throat tightened and his mouth hung open at the sight of her. 

"Tara."

"You know the witch?" Finn asked.

Spike forced his eyes straight ahead, and shrugged. "Passing acquaintance."

"Small world." Finn rounded a corner and approached a door that had maximum security written all over it. Finn slid his badge through the reader and swung it open to reveal another door, the numbers "314" emblazoned across it in bold, silver letters.

This time when Finn ran his badge through, a female voice responded, "Please hold for retinal scan." Finn stood still, eyes open, as a beam of green light scanned down his face. "Recognition: Finn, Riley. Second in command." A click as the door unlocked, and Finn pulled it open. 

He motioned Spike inside. "You know the drill," he said. "I'll be back for you in twenty." With that, he shut Spike inside the room.

Spike had to raise up on his toes to look out the little window in the top of the door and see where Finn was going. So his "bonus" was to get locked up for twenty minutes? What the hell kind of incentive was that?

A whimper from across the room caught Spike's attention, and he spun around. Something smallish huddled in a corner on the floor. Human female, wrapped in a straightjacket. Her brown hair was cropped close to her head, and Spike could make out surgical scars on her scalp. He took a tentative step towards her. "Hello?"

She raised her head to look at him. Her face held no expression, but her green eyes seethed with hatred. The emotions that came with recognition were too numerous and varied to name. 

Spike's legs gave out. He dropped to his knees before her.

"Buffy."

***

_End, Part Two _


	3. Finale of Seem

Perfect World

Part Three: Finale of Seem  
by cousinjean  
  


*

He didn't know how long he knelt there, just staring at her. She held his gaze; it occurred to him that if this had been another time, another place, it would've been a contest. Trying to psych each other out, see who would blink or look away first. But after a few seconds her eyes glazed over, her stare became vacant, and he wondered if he'd imagined the spark of hatred from before. If there was even anything of her left in there.   
  
Finally, she turned her head away and rested it against the wall. Spike snapped out of his near-trance and crept forward. He reached a hand out toward her. She pulled back, whining unintelligibly adn trying to burrow into the wall.   
  
Jesus, what did they do to her?  
  
"Shh, Buffy." He kept his voice calm, soothing. "I'm not gonna hurt you, I only --" He took hold of the buckle on her straightjacket and waited.   
  
She stopped struggling and went slack.   
  
"It's all right, Pet. Let's get this thing off." He undid the strap and slid her arms out of it. Underneath she wore an army-green tee-shirt, at least two sizes too big. It might've started out her size, but she looked like they only fed her enough to keep her alive. Bruises -- some faded, some fresh -- mingled with scabbed-over wounds and older scars, running down the length of both arms. Spike caught a glimpse of bite marks on her left wrist. "Oh, Buffy," he sighed as he reached out to finger the scar.   
  
When he touched her, she flinched away from him and jumped to her feet. She moved a few feet away, to stand with her back to him in the middle of the Spartan cell. "Where do you want it?" she mumbled.  
  
"Where do I want what?"  
  
She turned to look at him then, her glare both contemptuous and incredulous. Not his favorite look to receive from her, but at least it was fully Buffy. So they hadn't managed to _completely_ break her. Yet. "What do you think?"  
  
Spike stood there, at a total loss.   
  
She rolled her eyes. "Last time you wanted me bent over the cot, before that it was face down on the floor, before that, up against the wall ... where now? And remember, if you try to kiss me I swear to _God_ I'll bite off your tongue. Even if it means permanent brain damage."  
  
He let her words sink in, focusing on the last phrase first. Brain damage. Why she didn't try to fight ... "They put a chip in your head."  
  
The look she gave him clearly said, "Duh."  
  
"Then why ..." He looked down at the straitjacket in his hand, then remembered the scar on her wrist. The bite was human, he realized. Self-inflicted. "Oh." He shook his head and tossed the straitjacket aside. "Look, Buffy, I don't want to hurt you."  
  
At this, she laughed, but there was a desperation and anguish in it that chilled him.  
  
He took a step towards her. "Pet, I'm not --" He stopped himself. He'd been about to spill everything to her, but he remembered where he was. They were most likely being watched, or at least overheard. "I hit my head, and I'm not quite myself." He held up placating hands. "I don't know what's been going on between me and you ... although you've painted a pretty clear picture --"  
  
"God, would you just shut up and fuck me already? Or is this a new torture you've devised, having to listen to you talk? Because I'm thinking this is worse."  
  
Unbidden, Spike's brain called up memories of a much healthier Buffy, tearing at his clothes as she bent him backwards over a tomb and whispered breathlessly, "Fuck me, Spike." He shook it off. He couldn't reconcile that girl with the frail, damaged creature before him.  
  
"That's not why I'm here, Buffy."  
  
"Why do you keep saying my name?"  
  
Again, all he could do was stare at her.  
  
She shook her head and hugged herself. "Nobody's said my name in ... nobody here ever uses my name." She went over to the wall and leaned against it, then slid down into a crouch. With one hand she made a gesture as though brushing her hair out of her face, and seemed surprised when it had to go all the way to her head to find any hair. Then her expression became resigned, and she hugged herself again.  
  
For a long time he stood there, watching her, letting the horror of everything she'd been through sink in. Everything _he_ had done to her here. He went to stand a few feet away from her, keeping a respectable distance. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "For whatever that's worth."  
She didn't say anything, just stared straight ahead and began to rock a little.  
  
"I'm going to fix this. I'll --" He started to say "get you out of here," but remembered the surveillance. "I'll make it better. I promise you, Love."  
  
At that she looked up at him, her face filled with rage. "Don't you ... _ever_ ... call me that!" She lunged at him, but before he even thought to evade her attack she let out an ear-shattering scream and dropped to the floor. She curled into a ball, clutching her head and moaning.  
  
"Buffy! God!" Spike dropped to his knees beside her. He grabbed hold of her wrists, tried to pull her into his lap. "I'm sorry, Baby. I'm so sorry --"  
She struggled against him. "Leave me alone! Please, Spike! Please!" The last word came out in a sob. Spike suddenly saw her, her shoulder-length hair pulled up off her neck, bathrobe coming open, sprawled out on the bathroom tile. He jerked his hands away from her like she was on fire. "Oh, God. Buffy --"  
  
The door behind him opened. "Time's up," said Finn. He came in and looked down at Buffy as Spike struggled to his feet. "She tried to attack again, huh?"  
  
Spike couldn't find his voice. He could only watch as Buffy reached out a hand to touch Finn's boot. "Riley!" she cried. "Please ..."  
  
Finn yanked his foot away like she'd soiled him, then reared it back and kicked her in the stomach.   
  
"Hey!" Spike grabbed his shoulder and tried to shove him away from her, but the bastard didn't budge.  
  
"I said your time's up," Finn told him. "Go wait in the hall."  
  
"I bloody well will not!"  
  
Finn laid a claw on his weapon. "I 'bloody well' won't tell you again, vampire."  
  
Defeated, Spike backed slowly towards the door.  
  
Finn retrieved the straightjacket and threw it at Buffy. "Get up, Slayer. Be a good girl and put that on, now." For a minute there he actually sounded like the corn-fed Iowa boy.  
  
When Buffy could breathe again, she did as she was told. As she slid into the restraints her face lost all expression, and her eyes glazed over again. Finn re-fastened the buckle. "Now go stand against the wall where I can keep an eye on you." Again, Buffy obeyed. "Atta girl," he said, backing out of the room. Buffy looked up and met Spike's gaze as Finn pulled the door shut, her eyes full of accusation. The door closed on that image, already burned into Spike's memory.  
  
Rage filled him, and he threw himself at Finn, knocking the monster into the wall. "What the hell is wrong with you!" he shouted. "You used to love the girl!"  
  
Finn picked Spike off of him like he was an annoying insect, and set him on his feet. "Riley loved her. Riley's dead." He looked Spike up and down and raised one of the scaly ridges that stood in for his eyebrows. "I hope that pesky new soul of yours isn't going to be a problem from now on."  
  
Spike got ahold of himself, smoothed down his coat and shoved his hands in his pockets. "No. No problem."  
  
"Good."  
  
Finn escorted Spike back the way they came. He kept his eyes straight ahead this time, refusing to look at Tara as he passed. Bad enough knowing she was there. The girl was probably better off dead.  
  
When they reached the exit, Finn held it open for him. Fortunately it didn't require an access badge from the inside.  
  
"Same time next month," Finn said as Spike stepped into the cave. "And if I were you, I'd get that little Resistance problem taken care of before I came back." With that, he shut the door, leaving Spike in darkness.  
  
He trudged up the path towards the mouth of the cave. Although he didn't spare the guards a second glance as he passed, he did make the rudest gesture he could think of. At the road, Harmony was nowhere to be seen. Just as well. He really didn't think he could deal with her right then, and he was in desperate need of a good, stiff drink. He took a moment to pull out the badge he'd lifted from Finn, turning it over in his hands as his brain went to work on a new plan of action. Then he put it back in his pocket, and set his path for town.  
  
***  
  
He sat on the edge of the tub and watched. The other remained oblivious to her pleas as she struggled, but he could hear them. He could always hear them when he watched like this. He could see the anguish and fear on her face, hear them in her voice, as she begged him to stop. But he couldn't help her, couldn't make himself stop. He sat frozen, sentenced by his own subconscious to watch as he committed this ultimate betrayal, powerless to change it.  
  
The door opened, and she came in. She looked different, dressed in black leather pants and a white sweater, her long hair gathered at the back of her neck. She looked as she had that night, on the stairs, before ...  
  
"I know I'm a monster," he'd told her then; and here, before them on the bathroom floor, was the proof.  
  
She stepped gingerly around the couple on the floor and sat beside him on the tub.  
  
"Pet, what are you doing here? You shouldn't have to see this."  
  
"Already seen it," she told him. "Been there, done that ... they didn't actually sell tee-shirts."  
  
He looked at her. "Anybody ever tell you you've got a morbid sense of humor, Love?"  
  
"Look who's talking." She met his gaze and smiled. He was tempted to smile back when her desperate cries cut through him from the floor. He looked back down at her, at his own face, twisted by frustration and desperation instead of the demon -- the face of the evil that men do.  
  
She cupped his chin and turned him to face her. "I'm here," she said. "Where are you?"  
  
He jerked away from her touch and looked back at the man-monster on the floor. "There." He hung his head. "How can you even look at me?"  
  
She shrugged. "We always hurt the ones we love."  
  
He choked back a sob and dropped his head in his hands. A soft hand caressed the nape of his neck, stroked the hair there. She gently tugged at him, and despite everything he gave in, gave himself over to her embrace, let her cradle him against her breast as he cried. He slid off of the tub and dropped to his knees before her, rested his head in her lap while she rubbed a soothing pattern over his back. Finally he raised up and looked at her, and asked the question his conscious mind wouldn't allow him to ask, knew that he had no right to ask.  
  
"Can you ever forgive me?"  
  
She reached out and stroked his hair back from his face. "Ask the right question."  
  
"What question?"  
  
"Can you forgive yourself?"  
  
He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Every time I try to make things better, I just bollix it all up." When he opened his eyes, she changed. Her hair turned brown, cropped close to her head, and she wore pajama bottoms and an Army-issue tee-shirt. She was covered in scars and bruises. Spike bit back another sob. "Look what I've done to you this time. God, I keep making things worse for you."  
  
"Then start fixing it," she said. "Make it right."  
  
"How?"  
  
Sadly, she shook her head. "I wish I could tell you."   
  
He closed his eyes again as she leaned down and kissed his forehead. When he opened them, he was seated back on the tub, looking down at her. She lay sprawled on the floor, alone. Her bathrobe lay open, revealing bruises already forming between her legs. He reached down to close it, to try and restore some of her dignity. His fingers brushed her skin as he did. She felt cold. That's when he noticed the wound on her throat.   
  
He shook his head. "No. It ... that's not how it happened."  
  
Her head snapped up, and she looked at him with yellow eyes, her forehead a series of bumps and ridges. She bared her fangs, snarled, then lunged.   
  
With a yelp, he fell backwards into the tub, filled with water that enveloped him, pulled him down. Beyond the tub, beyond light, he floated in blackness. Icy fingers stroked him all over and caressed his body. Then they tore at him, rending his clothes away until he was naked, clawing his flesh. Faces appeared out of the darkness -- some he knew, others faint echoes of distant memories -- passing before him in endless succession.   
  
His victims.   
  
He tried to kick away, to swim up into the light, but they clutched at him, grabbed him by the ankles and pulled him back down, down, into endless night, to live with them always.   
  
He opened his mouth to scream, and cold water rushed in.  
  
***  
  
Spike opened his eyes and jerked his head up with a gasp. It took him a moment to register his surroundings. He was in a booth at Willie's. He was wet. He also smelled like beer. With a grimace, he tasted the liquid dripping from his hair onto his hand. Cheap beer. Lovely.  
  
"Wakey, wakey," purred a familiar voice from the end of the table. He looked up to see Willow, dangling an empty pitcher from her index finger, gazing at him with a serene smile on her face.   
  
Willow. Thank God. It had all been a nightmare, and everything was back to normal now. Except, what the hell was she doing in Willie's? And wasn't she supposed to be in England with Giles? He looked back at the table and saw the napkin he'd been drawing on before he passed out, lying next to Finn's access badge. Oh, balls. Still in Bizarro world. But Willow was alive, there was a good sign. Maybe he could get some Scooby assistance after all.  
  
A stream of beer on the table ran towards the napkin. Spike snatched up that and the badge and put them in his breast pocket. He ran a hand through his hair, slinging beer haphazardly around him.  
  
"Hey, watch it!" Willow barked as she jumped back. She pouted as she wiped the beer from her fur coat. "Werewolf's a bitch to clean."  
  
Okay. Still processing. Willow was acting at home in Willie's. Willow was wearing something that could have been her ex-boyfriend on top of -- well, not very much at all, really. None of that pointed to her being on the side of goodness and light. And it was beginning to seep into Spike's whiskey-soaked, sleep-addled, dream-fogged brain that Willow was also quite dead.  
  
She retrieved a towel from the bar and draped it over his head, then slid into the opposite seat, flashing him an impish smile. "Her Royal Haughtiness sent me out to find you. She freaked when she went to pick you up and you weren't there." Willow frowned. "I wish you'd explain to her that just because she's fucking my sire doesn't make me her minion."  
  
"You're nobody's minion, Red," Spike said absently. He was focused on scrubbing the beer out of his hair, but stopped when that last item registered. Another flashback hit him, driven home hard under the extra weight of his conscience. Pushing Willow onto her bed, music blaring from her radio, drowning out her screams -- and his, as the chip sent its first jolts of agony through him. But here, there was no chip. Never had been. Spike threw the towel down on the table in disgust, then focused on mopping up the rest of the mess.  
  
"That's right. I'm not." Her voice was steel. Something familiar about that, too. It sparked another fragment of memory. _Maybe it's not such a good idea for you to piss me off._ Spike suppressed a shudder. She narrowed her eyes at him. "There's something different about you."  
  
"Could it be my handsome new scent? Eau de Bud Light?" If she picked up on the soul, he wondered if she'd buy the same William the Bloody schpiel he'd given Adam, or if this Willow already knew better.  
  
She shook her head, and tilted it, examining him. "No, there's something else. Something about your aura."  
  
Shit. Becoming a vampire obviously hadn't curbed her taste for witchcraft. That combination couldn't be good.  
  
The bartender came over to take Willow's order, providing a nice distraction. For the moment, at least. "I'll have a Bloody Mary," she said. The bartender rolled his eyes, and Willow cast a wicked grin at Spike. For an instant, he could see a faint glimmer of her human self. "That joke never gets old."  
  
The bartender went to poke his head in the back room. "Mary! It's your favorite customer!"  
  
Out shuffled a dark-haired girl, pale and anemic-looking. Jesus, she couldn't have been older than Dawn. Willow scooted over and patted the seat next to her as Mary, her eyes downcast, approached the table. "Have a seat, Mary," Willow said conversationally, and the girl did as told. Willow brushed Mary's long hair over her shoulder, revealing bite marks all over her neck, some already turned to scars, some more recent.  
  
"She looks well used, that one."  
  
"Mm." Willow continued to pet the girl's hair. "That's my favorite thing about the human heart. As long as you don't take too much, it just keeps on pumping out more of the good stuff." She leaned over and lapped at the most recent mark, then trailed her tongue up the girl's neck and cheek. Unseen by Willow, Mary's eyes closed and her face knitted in revulsion and fear. Spike had to look away.  
  
"And Mary here is definitely the good stuff," Willow said. She glanced at Spike. "You seem kinda down. I take it things didn't go so well with Adam."  
  
"You could say that."  
  
She continued to fondle the girl as she spoke. "Big guy's not too happy about the Resistance, huh? Oh!" She finally stopped touching the poor bird and turned to face Spike. "I almost forgot"  
  
Spike looked back at her. "What?"  
  
"The Resistance. We captured one of them. I think he's their leader." She grinned. "And you'll never guess who it is."  
  
Spike braced himself. "Who?"  
  
Her grin grew wider as she tilted her chin down and looked at him from under hooded eyes. "Go on, guess."  
  
Spike glared at her. "Got a bit of a headache coming on, Pet. Really not in the mood for guessing games."  
  
Her grin melted into a pout. "No fun."  
  
"Willow? Who is it?"  
  
She straightened up, suddenly serious and deadly. "Giles. I mean, hardly surprising, right? The old man is so predictable."  
  
Brilliant. "What did you do with him?"  
  
"We took him to your house, chained him up in the basement. Josh was all gung-ho to torture him, but I told him you'd want to interrogate him yourself." The grin returned, and a sliver of pink tongue peeked out from behind her teeth. "Besides, I want to watch."  
  
Thank heaven for small favors. "Right, good call." Spike stood up. "We'd best get back, then."  
  
"I'll be along," Willow said, turning back to Mary. "Just let me finish my drink." She pulled the girl into her lap and leaned her back, cradling her like the child that she was. Willow morphed into vamp face and leaned into the girl's neck. She slipped her free hand up under Mary's blouse, and the girl gave out a whimper that sounded more of pain than of pleasure.  
  
Spike mustered all of his authority. "Willow!"  
  
She raised her head and cast an irritated sneer at Spike.  
  
"Sun's up soon. You don't have time."  
  
With a sigh, Willow melted back into human face. "Fine." She ran a finger tenderly down Mary's cheek, then planted a soft kiss on her lips. For her part, Mary remained motionless. "Later, Baby." Willow nudged Mary out of the booth. As she got up, she tossed a couple of bills onto the table. Mary grabbed them and ran into the back room. Willow turned to follow Spike. "So much for being nobody's minion," she muttered.  
  
"Just come on," Spike mumbled as they left the bar. His stomach was beginning to rumble, and he was starting to suspect that butcher's blood wouldn't be so easy to come by in these parts. As much as the sight of that girl had pained him, she'd also begun to look tempting.  
  
Spike pushed the thought aside. Ignoring his hunger, he focused instead on how the hell to save Rupert's ass.  
  
***  
  
END, PART THREE 


	4. The Devil You Know

Perfect World

Part Four: The Devil You Know

by cousinjean  
  


***

Minions hung about in the front yard, dancing on the lawn to music blasting through the living room windows. A few couples of various orientations were all but shagging on the front porch. Looked like a party. Just what he so fucking didn't need.   
He shoved a beer-swilling tosser out of his path as he stormed up the front walk.   
  
Harmony came flying out the door and met him on the steps. "Spikey! Oh my God, I was so worried!" She threw her arms around his neck. "Where were you?"  
  
"Went for a drink."  
  
"Ew, and you smell like it!" She pulled away and put her hands on her hips. Spike cast a glance at Willow, who leaned against the porch rail and met him with a smirk. Harmony poked him in the chest. "Do you even care that I was out of my mind with worry? All I could think was what if my poor Blondie Bear wandered off somewhere and couldn't remember how to get home before sunrise!"  
  
He grabbed her and pulled her inside the house. "Let's not advertise my memory loss to the others, right?"  
  
"Sorry," she pouted, jerking her arm out of his grip, "but I was really scared. Don't do that to me."  
  
Spike sighed. The wounded look she gave him made him feel like a prat. "Sorry, Pet. Didn't mean to frighten you." He looked out at the party on the front lawn and his irritation rose anew. The incessant hip hop noise blaring from the stereo wasn't helping. "Tell me, do all these people live here?"  
  
"No, just us. But they caught Mr. Giles messing with one of the traps, and decided to celebrate."  
  
Great. The whole world was shot to hell, Buffy's stuck in an underground cell, so desperate to end her misery that she's willing to chew through her own wrist, and these pillocks were having a fucking party. His irritation boiled into anger as he spun away from Harmony and tore into the living room. With a roar he picked up the stereo and heaved it into the giant TV screen. He stood there, panting, relishing the satisfaction that always came with significant property damage. His conscience had nothing to say on the matter, and in fact felt pretty good about destroying something that belonged to this world's Spike -- considering all evidence pointed to this world's Spike being a right, bloody bastard.  
  
"Spike!" Harmony's shrill, indignant voice cut through the red haze. "What the hell are you doing?"  
  
Ignoring her, Spike strode to the front door. The minions all stood about looking bewildered. "Don't you people have homes?" he shouted.  
  
From her spot against the porch rail, Willow raised an imperious eyebrow. "It's not like they don't have a good reason to celebrate."  
  
"Celebrate when the problem's been eliminated," he growled, and slammed the door. He spun to face Harmony. "Where is he?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Giles, you daft bint!" She flinched at the name-calling, but he didn't have time to feel bad about it.  
  
"He's in the basement. Josh is guarding him."  
  
Spike pushed past her to the basement door. He took his time going down the stairs, putting on an air of menace, more for Josh's benefit than for Giles's. The Watcher's back was to him. He was thoroughly tied to a support beam, facing the opposite wall. When Spike reached the bottom of the stairs, a tall, powerful-looking young vampire stepped away from Giles and flashed a fangy grin at Spike. This must be Josh, then.  
  
"Master," Josh said, his voice full of pride, "I caught the Resistance leader."  
  
"Did that all by yourself, did you?"  
  
The whelp gave a modest shrug. "Well, some of the guys helped."  
  
"Well done," Spike said absently as he moved around to have a look at Giles. His head hung down, but Spike could see a cut on his forehead. "Hello, Rupert."  
  
Giles raised his head. The cut was just the beginning. One of his eyes had swollen shut, and he had a busted lip. His good eye met Spike's. "Hello, tosser."  
  
Funny how much that hurt. Last time Spike had seen Giles, the older man -- well, the more _mature_ man, at least -- had called him "Son." Of course, they'd both been under the influence of actual amnesia and had made a tremendous leap in logic based on their shared Britishness, but still. It had been rather nice. Not that Spike would ever admit that to anybody.  
  
But that had been a different Giles. This one gazed at him with utter contempt. He'd never seen that before, least not directed at him. Supreme irritation and disappointment, yeh, but not this unvarnished hatred. This would make things difficult.  
  
"Started the interrogation without me, eh?" Spike addressed Josh, but his eyes never left Giles.  
  
"Yeah, but I kept him conscious for you. I didn't think you'd mind, long as I didn't kill him."  
  
"Well you thought wrong." Spike stared hard at the boy until he looked sufficiently cowed, then he turned back to Giles. "Rupert here's not one to break under torture. You can inflict all the physical pain you want on him. He'd sooner die than tell you what you need to know. I'n't that right, Rupes?"  
  
"Sod off."  
  
Spike looked back at Josh. "See?" He stepped closer to Giles, put a hand on his head to hold him still, and said in a low voice, "Remember who it was kept you alive the last time? With Angelus?" He stared steadily into the Watcher's eyes, willing him to get his meaning. Finally Giles jerked out of Spike's grip and looked away.  
  
With a nod, Spike turned back to Josh. "Best to let him sit and stew in his own thoughts. He knows good and well it'll be better for his people if he just tells us where they are. Better'n letting himself be used as bait for an ambush. There's time enough for him to figure that out on his own." He went back to the stairs. "Right, then. Time for beddy-bye. If you're going home, best go while the getting's good."  
  
"I'll stay here and guard the prisoner."  
  
Bugger. Spike shrugged. "Suit yourself, mate." He went back up the stairs, and closed the door behind him. Now what? His stomach growled again, so he went to the fridge. It was well-stocked with an assortment of booze and a bucket of wings -- funny, that. Before the chip he hadn't had much of a liking for regular food. Maybe they belonged to a minion. No blood, naturally. He hadn't really expected to find any. Not like he'd have need to keep it bottled when he could get it fresh off the tap. With a sigh, he pulled out a wing and tore into it. It would do nothing for his hunger, but maybe it would have a nice placebo affect, help him keep going a bit longer. He didn't know what he'd do for blood, but he'd have to think of something soon.  
  
He washed the wing down with a bottle of Bass -- he wasn't quite ready yet to experience this world completely sober -- then, not knowing what else to do, he headed upstairs.  
  
Harmony met him in the hall, blocking his way into the bedroom. Not that he had any particular desire to go in there. "I hope you don't think you're coming to bed all stinky."  
  
"Right. 'Course not." Spike looked past her into Buffy's room and sighed. "Just let me get some clothes and I'll go clean up."  
  
Harmony rolled her eyes. "This is my closet," she said. "Yours is in there." She pointed toward the master bedroom. "But you don't wear clothes to sleep in, Silly. Just go shower and come to bed. Maybe you'll feel better after you get some sleep." She turned and flounced into the room.  
  
Spike moved down the hall to the bathroom. He stood outside the door, fists clenched and eyes closed, swallowing down the bile and fear that rose in his throat. He couldn't go in there. Maybe he could wash up in the kitchen.  
  
_Oh, go on, you cowardly git_, chided the voice in his head. _No getting out of it this time. Not like Buffy got the luxury of avoiding this room, is it?_  
  
He hadn't thought of that before, that Buffy couldn't even take a piss in peace without being reminded what he'd done to her. If she had to face it, then so did he. He stepped over the threshold and flipped on the light.  
  
It looked different. Harmony's crap cluttered every surface, and it had been redone in black. The shower curtain, the towels ... a large, black rug covered the floor in front of the tub. Still, white tile peeked out around it. He examined the wall at the opposite end, a bit surprised not to see a Spike-shaped dent in the plaster. But it hadn't happened here. Not really.  
  
He stepped all the way inside and closed the door. Kicking off his boots, he took a deep breath. Didn't smell the same, either. Essence of Harmony had replaced that of both his girls.   
  
Spike sighed. He hated this place.  
  
He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the tub. Suppressing a shudder as his nightmare flashed before him in vivid detail, he turned on the shower as hot as he could stand. The water felt cleansing, comforting. Not like cold, suffocating water of his dream. He put his hands on the wall before him and leaned into the spray, willing it to wash away the film of despair that walking in this world had coated him with. It didn't work. He thought of Buffy, battered and broken, writhing in unbearable pain on the floor of her cell. He thought of himself, this other version of himself, holding her down and forcing her to take him in, not just once but over and over again. He wondered how many times it had taken before she'd given up fighting it, begging him to stop.  
  
Pain shot through his hand and wrist and up his forearm. Startled, he stared in wonder at his fist, clenched tight and resting against a new crack in the tile. He forced his fingers to straighten and held his bloodied knuckles under the water. The torn flesh stung enough to make him wince, but he gritted his teeth and kept his hand there. The pain felt fitting. Just. Deserved.  
  
Spike let out a laugh. He'd sworn before he got his soul that he wouldn't beat himself up about his past, yet here he was doing it literally. Sod this. He had work to do.  
  
He shut off the water and shook out his hand, then got out of the tub and toweled himself off. After grabbing his coat and boots, he went into the master bedroom. Joyce's old room. It'd been a while since he'd thought of her. He'd been surprised by how much it had hurt when she'd passed on, but that had been nothing next to losing Buffy. He wondered what Joyce would think of the way he'd treated her daughter. Probably take another axe to him if she knew.  
  
He shook off that line of thought and went to the closet. He grabbed one of at least a dozen pairs of black Levi's, and after about two seconds' worth of deliberation snatched a long-sleeved tee-shirt, and pulled them both on. Then he simply stood there.   
  
What now?  
  
The glow of daylight filtered in through the heavy curtains, but it was still too early to make his move. Besides that, he felt dead tired. No way in this or any other hell would he go lie down in Buffy's bed with Harmony.  
  
Joyce's, then. It still felt like a sacrilege, but it was the lesser evil. Besides, it would just be for a little while. Couple hours at the most. Just a spot of rest, and then he'd start making things right again for both of Joyce's daughters.  
  
Spike nodded, as if making a promise -- though whether to himself or to the mother of his beloved he couldn't be sure -- then lay on the bed and closed his eyes.  
  
Lazy fingers played with the damp curls around his forehead. "What are you thinking?"  
  
He smiled. "Right now I'm thinking how you never used to ask me that sort of thing."  
  
She gave his locks a gentle tug. "I'm asking now."  
  
He opened his eyes to look at her. Her hair had grown over the summer, back past her shoulders, and it reflected what little light filtered in through the curtains. She smiled at him, and the room brightened tenfold.  
  
"You only ever ask when you're not really here."  
  
Her smile faded into a thoughtful frown, and the little space between her eyebrows crinkled up. "Maybe you should take advantage of it, then. While you still can."  
  
He smoothed out the crinkle with his index finger before brushing her hair out of her face. "God, I miss you."  
  
She trailed caresses down the arm closest to her, then intertwined her fingers with his. "Then come home."  
  
"I'm trying."  
  
Her eyebrows shot up. "This is trying? Trying looks a whole lot like lying flat on your back on my mother's bed."  
  
"Bloke's gotta rest sometime, Love."  
  
"Mm." She snuggled down and rested her head on his shoulder. "You rest too long, though, and opportunity will knock on your window and pass you by."  
  
He squinted at her. "I think you're mixing your metaphors there, Pet."  
  
She raised up to look at him. "Well, it's _your_ subconscious, Mr. ... Poet ... Guy. I'm not the one getting my metaphors mixy, am I?"  
  
He laughed. "S'pose not." He gazed at her for a few seconds, enjoying the sight of her as he had so many mornings over this summer and the last. "You sure you're just part of my subconscious?"  
  
She moved on top of him, stretching her length out along his, and stroked the sides of his face. "Come home, and find out." She lowered her mouth and caught his bottom lip in a languorous kiss. He closed his eyes and reached his arms up to embrace her, to return her kiss.   
  
His arms caught nothing but air.  
  
Spike opened his eyes. Groggily, he sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. Judging by the quality of light behind the curtains, it was midmorning. He'd slept a couple of hours. It would have to be enough. He got up and found his boots and duster, pulling them on before creeping out of the room.  
  
Buffy's door was open. Spike poked his head in to make sure that Harmony slept soundly before sneaking past. He made it down the stairs and into the kitchen quietly enough, stopping to check his pockets for weapons before opening the basement door.  
  
He had two options. He could charge down there, cock of the walk, make up any number of excuses -- hell, he was the Master. He didn't need an excuse. Didn't even need a reason. Get Josh to turn his back, shove a stake in him, and that would be that. But then he supposed that Josh didn't get to be one of his top minions by being an idiot. The boy might put up a fight, raise a big noise and bring Harmony running.  
  
Or, he could sneak down, take out Josh before he even knew what hit him. Risky, as it required no less than expert stealth. Fortunately, he _was_ an expert, and what's more, he'd had a lot of practice going up and down these stairs without so much as a creak. Chalk up a point for his obsessed stalker days.  
  
Stealth, then.  
  
Stake in hand, he opened the door slowly, just wide enough to fit through. With feather-light steps he started down the stairs. The rest of the basement came into view. Giles had slid down the post and now sat on the floor, his back still to the stairs. Josh sat on top of the washing machine, reading a comic book.   
  
Oh, bollocky hell. No way Spike could get to him without being seen first. So much for the stealth approach. Then again, the boy seemed oblivious to Spike's presence. Slipping the stake up his sleeve, he cleared his throat as he stepped out of the shadows.  
  
Josh looked up, startled. "Hey, Spike. I didn't hear you coming."  
  
"No, you didn't. This what you call guarding the prisoner?" He indicated the comic. _Violent Cases._ Good book. Couldn't blame the whelp for being into it. Still, Spike had a role to play. "If I'd been a Slayer intent on rescue you'd be dust now."  
  
Josh threw down the book and hopped to his feet. "Sorry, Master. I ... the prisoner fell asleep, and I needed something to keep me --"  
  
"Wake him." Spike moved to stand near Josh, looking down at Giles. "I've got a couple of questions for ol' Rupert here."  
  
Josh nodded, went to do as told. As soon as his back faced Spike, the stake went in. Giles opened his eyes and looked up at Spike through a rain of dust, his expression a mixture of surprise and wary bewilderment.  
  
Spike gave him the first genuine smile he'd managed since arriving in this place. "Nice to see the other me hasn't abandoned the grand tradition of surrounding himself with bleeding idiots." He stepped closer to examine Giles's bonds. He was handcuffed as well as tied. Spike looked around the room. "Need the key," he muttered.  
  
"I believe you just dusted it."  
  
Spike looked down at Josh's remains. "Oh. Damn." With a sigh, he began searching for some bolt cutters.  
  
"What are you playing at, Spike?"  
  
He settled on garden shears. "At the moment, I'm playing at rescuing you." He grunted as he forced the shears to close on the chain. They bit through half the link before the blades bent. He tossed the shears aside. "Hold still." Spike pulled on the cuffs, gritting his teeth as he put all of his strength into it. Finally, the link gave. A moment to unknot the ropes, and Giles was free. Spike moved back to face him. "Right, then. Let's go." He held out a hand.  
  
Giles stared up at him. He got to his feet without taking Spike's proferred hand, so Spike put it in his pocket. As soon as he was up, Giles lunged at Spike, wrapping his hands around his throat and bending him backwards over the washing machine.  
  
"Hey!" Spike pried Giles's hands loose and shoved him backwards. The two of them stood there a moment, Spike rubbing his neck and Giles panting. "None of that, all right? I'm trying to bloody _rescue_ you, you git!"  
  
Giles's laugh sounded a little maniacal. It set Spike on edge. "You? Rescue _me_? You're the one I need rescuing _from_, you daft bastard!"  
  
Good point. He'd have to be smart about this. Not like trust was even in the same bloody hemisphere with this Giles, was it? He pulled the stake back out of his pocket, considered it a minute, then flipped it and offered it to Giles, blunt end first. "Not anymore, mate. It's the other way 'round."  
  
Giles kept laughing. "Oh, I see. Is this your cunning plan? Get me to think you've switched sides so I'll take you back to my hideout? Tell me, is it that you're an idiot or that you take me for one?"  
  
Spike grabbed Giles's hand and shoved the stake in it. "I'm _serious_!"  
  
Giles stopped laughing. "So am I."  
  
Spike let go, and backed up a few paces. "I need your help, Giles. We have to get --" He stopped, and scanned the ceiling for cameras. God knew what kind of surveillance they were under. "I can't explain here, but I'll tell you everything. I promise."  
  
Again, Giles laughed. "You want _my_ help? What on Earth makes you think I could _possibly_ be convinced to help you?"  
  
"You'll want to help once you know what I'm after." He spread his arms out in a gesture of supplication. "Look. I just cut you loose, and I'm offering myself up as a willing hostage. What else will it take to convince you I'm on the level?"  
  
"Nothing, Spike." Giles regarded Spike with hard, cold eyes. "I don't trust you. There is nothing you can do or say that will change that."  
  
Spike nodded. "Beginning to get that."  
  
Giles held his gaze a bit longer, then looked at the stake in his hand. "What makes you think I won't simply slay you and be done with it?"  
  
Spike allowed himself a rueful smile. "'Cause you're Giles. You're honorable. And what's more, you're curious as hell." He could almost see the cogs turning in the Watcher's brain. Spike suspected those two things were fundamental truths about this man, no matter which dimension he was in.   
  
Finally, Giles nodded. "All right. I do have questions for you, and I'd rather not ask them here."  
  
"Let's go, then." Spike started for the stairs.  
  
"Hold up." Giles paused at the bottom. "It's daylight. How am I supposed to take you prisoner if you can't go outside?"  
  
Oh, right. Spike sighed, and scanned the utility shelves at the bottom of the stairs. He spotted a couple of folded up blankets, and tucked one under his arm. "Sunlight's never been much of a deterrent for me," he explained, gesturing for Giles to follow him up the stairs. "'Sides, we can take my car." At the top of the stairs, he paused. "Stay quiet, right? Don't want to wake the Missus." He pushed the door open and made sure the coast was clear, then made his way through the dining room to the front door. He stopped, and patted his pockets. "Keys," he muttered. "Where the sodding hell do I keep my keys?"  
  
"Is that them?" Giles whispered, pointing to a set lying on an end table in the living room.  
  
Spike retrieved them and handed them to Giles. "Right, then. Go open the car door and stand out of the way. I'll have to run for it."  
  
"I don't think so," said Giles. "You'll ride in the trunk, or we don't do this at all."  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. "Fine. The trunk it is. But if certain things remain universal, you'll have to clean it out before I'll fit in there."  
  
"Fine." Giles opened the door and went to the car. The porch provided enough shade for Spike to step outside. He unfolded the blanket and watched as Giles opened the trunk. Whatever was in there seemed to give him pause. Then he reached in and pulled out a couple of battle axes, a shotgun, and a mean looking crossbow. Not too surprising, really. Being a Master meant you had to be ready to dole out the occasional execution. And Spike had a feeling the demon population wasn't any more fond of him in this Sunnydale than in his own. Giles looked at him pointedly from behind the armload of weapons before piling them in the back seat. Then he shut the door and looked at Spike. "Right, then! In you go!"  
  
Spike arranged the blanket over his head with a weary sigh. "Once more unto the boot," he muttered, and took off at a run.   
  
***  
  
END, PART FOUR  
  



	5. The 'Throw Himself To The Lions' Sort, T...

Perfect World

Part Five: The 'Throw Himself To The Lions' Sort, These Days 

by cousinjean  
  


  
***  
  
He didn't know how long they'd been driving. He suspected Giles was going in circles, drawing out the distance to throw him off. Spike wished he'd bloody just get there already. Giles had pulled the larger objects from the trunk to make room for him, but it was still cluttered with crap, poking his back and sides. Spike dug out his lighter to see the sort of things Evil, Unchipped Spike kept in his trunk. It looked amazingly like the contents of Struggling-To-Be-Good, Chipped Spike's trunk. Rummaging through the assortment of half-empty liquor bottles, books, CDs, tools and trash, he almost hoped to find a body or a severed head -- _anything_ to differentiate this world's Spike from himself. But it was all just ... Spike. Same vampire, different circumstances. He pocketed his lighter and tried to swallow down the bitter taste in his mouth.  
  
The car began to bounce and sway like it was going over rough terrain. After what felt like a small eternity, they stopped. The slam of a car door served as Spike's cue to get his blanket ready. The trunk opened, and Giles aimed the crossbow at Spike's heart.  
  
"Get out."  
  
Spike took a chance and looked up. They were deep in the woods, the trees providing enough cover that -- barring any sudden windgusts -- he could move around in relative safety. He discarded the blanket and clambered out of the trunk. With his free hand, Giles grabbed Spike by the lapel and shoved him up against a tree.  
  
"Oi, no need for --"  
  
"Shut up!" Giles backed up a few steps, keeping the bolt pointed at Spike's heart. "Now. I told you I have questions. You're going to answer them."  
  
"We don't have time for this, Rupert. If you would just bloody listen to-- Guh!" He doubled over as the butt of the crossbow smashed into his gut.  
  
Giles took aim again. "Perhaps you didn't hear me. I _said_, I have questions. And you _are_ going to answer them. Now. How much have you learned about the Resistance?"  
  
Clutching his stomach, Spike straightened up and leaned against the tree. "I don't know."  
  
Giles got a nasty grin on his face, and then reared back to strike again. This time, Spike was ready. He grabbed the crossbow and tore it from Giles's grip. "I said I _don't know_!" he shouted, flinging the weapon away. "Now lay off the Ripper routine and let me talk!"  
  
Giles stood there blinking for a moment; then his eyes narrowed. "Where did you hear that name?"  
  
"What n-- oh. Oh!" Had his attention now, didn't he? "I know all sorts of things about you, Rupes." Affecting his cockiest manner, he leaned sideways against the tree, crossed his ankles, and fished his smokes out of his pocket.  
  
"Such as?"  
  
Spike lit his cigarette and took a nice, long drag before continuing. "Such as ... " He blew out a long column of smoke, then looked at Giles. "When you were a little tyke," he held out his hand, waist high, "you wanted to be a pilot or a grocer or somesuch nonsense before Daddy told you that you were bound for the family business. Guess you had a bit of a rebellious streak, that's how you picked up the name Ripper." He paused for another drag.  
  
"What else?"   
  
"When you first met Buffy, you thought she was an insolent brat who wouldn't last out the year. Didn't take you long to figure out that her attitude and her 'unorthodox methods' made her the best there ever was." Spike smiled. "I happen to agree with _both_ of those assessments, by the way." He stopped. Giles had gone a little pale. "Shall I go on?"  
  
He nodded. "Please do."  
  
"Right. Um ... well, besides owning the most extensive occult library this side of the pond, you also have the best vinyl collection of acid rock I've ever seen."  
  
Giles swallowed, then something seemed to occur to him. "Of course. Willow must have told you all of this."  
  
Spike snorted. "Yeah, right. And Willow must've also told me about the time you got jacked up on magic candy and shagged Joyce. Or that you used to keep a ridiculously overpriced bottle of Laphroiag locked up in your safe 'cause you didn't like sharing it with company. Or that you snore like a bleeding buzzsaw, or that you talk in your sleep when you've had too much to drink, or that--"  
  
"That-- that's quite enough, Spike." He shook his head. "You've got my attention. How do you know all this?"  
  
Spike took another drag, then stubbed his cigarette out on the tree before straightening up to face Giles. _Here goes nothing_. "You remember how Anyanka came to be part of your Scooby Gang?"  
  
Giles nodded. "A vengeance wish went wrong and she ended up human. Your point?"  
  
"Went wrong how? Work with me here, Rupert. She got Harris's ex-bird to make a wish--"  
  
"Which inadvertently created an alternate reality in which Buffy never came to Sunnydale. My counterpart in that reality destroyed her power center and undid the wish, returning everything to normal and rendering Anya human."  
  
Spike made an "on the nose" gesture, then put his hands back in his pockets. "Yeh, well. Turns out she's got this friend, Halfrek. One of her vengeance 'associates.' Bitch caught me at an especially vulnerable moment, got me nice and liquored up, then got me to shooting my mouth off --"  
  
"And you made a wish."  
  
"Yup."  
  
Giles made a motion as if to remove his glasses, then when he didn't find any, he ran a hand through his hair instead. "So ... you're saying you're from an alternate reality?"  
  
Spike grinned. "Now you're getting it."  
  
Giles stared at him for a long moment. Then he burst out laughing.  
  
Spike raised an eyebrow. "What?"  
  
"Nothing, nothing. I'm just ..." His eyes were tearing up, so he paused to wipe them. "I'm trying to decide whether you're deranged or if you've simply become a better liar."  
  
Oh, he so didn't have time for this. Spike grabbed Giles by the collar, spun him around and pushed him against the tree. "You know, Watcher, there's nothing to stop me from killing you where you stand."  
  
"Then why don't you?"  
  
"Because I'm _not_ your enemy!" Spike let go of him and backed away. God, he needed another cigarette. He took one out and lit it, giving his hands something to do besides shake or form fists. "Look, I need you to believe me. I've tried calling Halfrek, she's not answering. I don't know the first thing about how to find her so I can get her to undo this mess." He shook his head, and shrugged helplessly. "I cocked it all up _royally_, and I don't know how to fix it. I _need_ your help."  
  
They stood for a long time, Spike smoking while Giles studied him. "What did you wish?" Giles finally asked.  
  
"What?"  
  
"What did you wish? Was it Buffy? Did you ... did you wish her dead?"  
  
"No! God, no." Spike took another drag, then scratched his forehead. "A few years back, when the Initiative first showed up and started making noise, they captured me. Cut me open and shoved a chip in my brain."  
  
"Couldn't have happened to a nicer fellow," snarked Giles.  
  
Spike gave him a look, then went on. "It kept me from harming humans. Couldn't bite, couldn't even hit. Couldn't defend myself against self-righteous, bullying gits like Harris --"  
  
Giles's eyes widened. "Xander Harris?"  
  
"Yeh." Spike pointed at his eyes, which he presumed were still black. "Boy's got a mean temper, and an even meaner right cross. Halfrek found me after, got me to say I wished I'd never gotten chipped in the first place. Then, poof. Found myself here."  
  
Giles slumped against the tree. "Spike, if all this is true ... you're an idiot, you know that? I mean, of all the bloody stupid --"  
  
"I'm doing a fine job of berating myself, Rupert. Don't need any help from you, thanks."  
  
"It's a good story," Giles said. "Good enough for me not to discount, although I'm not entirely convinced of its veracity. Or yours." He slid down the tree until he was squatting, hands clasped in front of him. "Let's say for the sake of argument that you're telling the truth. Sounds to me like the chip made you miserable. Here, there is no chip, and you rule Sunnydale. You've got everything you always wanted. Why would you want to go back?"  
  
Spike shook his head. "I don't want _this_. I mean, once upon a time, maybe ... but not now." He waved his hand to indicate the world around him. "I want no part of this."  
  
Giles nodded. "And in your world, you and I are somehow close enough for me to have confided all of this personal information to you?"  
  
"Well ... some of it, yeh. I mean, you get enough of that expensive Scotch in you and you open up like a groupie at a Stones concert." Giles laughed. There's a good sign. Spike shrugged, and looked at him sideways. "Plus, I stayed with you for a bit after I got the chip, and you weren't home a lot, and ... well, I snooped."  
  
"Lovely. That really helps with the trust issues."  
  
"Oh, like you wouldn't go through my personal effects, given half the chance."  
  
Giles raised his eyebrows, then nodded. He stood up. "I managed to salvage about half of my library. I should be able to find _something_ about this Halfrek demon. I'm willing to take you back with me, provided you come along under my terms."  
  
"Hold up, that's just the first order of business. Before I go with you, I have to know you believe me."  
  
Giles scratched the back of his head, then put his hands on his hips. "Spike, you have been a source of untold suffering and torment for me and mine over the last few years."  
  
Spike pursed his lips and flicked away his spent cigarette. "Yeh, I kinda gathered that."  
  
"It's going to take a certain amount of verification before I put an iota of faith in anything that you say, no matter how convincing."  
  
Something Giles had said earlier flickered through Spike's memory. _Did you wish her dead?_ He stared at Giles. "You think she's ... that's why you haven't rescued her."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Buffy! She's ... Giles, if you believe nothing else I've told you, believe this: Buffy's alive."  
  
Giles snorted. "You _are_ deranged. I saw her die myself. And I've also got you to thank for that."  
  
Spike shook his head. "I don't know what you think you saw, and I don't _care_. She's alive, and she's in that ... that _place_, and from what I've seen she'd be better off dead."  
  
"But it's been two years ..." Giles turned ashen, and he shook his head. "No. I don't believe you."  
  
"You'd bloody well better believe me if you want me to go back with you!" Spike started pacing. "She's down there, and she's already been through God knows what. And I'm going to get her out. I'll do it myself if I have to. I can't let you stop me. I _won't_ let you."  
  
Giles took a deep breath. "Fine. Assuming what you say is true, why do you care? Buffy's your enemy --"  
  
"No." Spike whirled to face Giles. "Not in my world, she's not. Not anymore." He ran his hands through his hair. "Even if none of this is real, even if we can find Halfrek and get it all set right ..." He shook his head. "I can't take the thought of her stuck in that hole one _minute_ longer."  
  
Giles nodded, then he came forward and leaned over Spike. "If I find you are lying to me about this, I will not simply kill you. I will cause you _incomparable_ suffering."  
  
Spike deflated a little. "You can do a truth spell, Rupert. Whatever it takes. Just ... _please_ believe me."  
  
Giles moved back. With a sigh, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Very well. We have resources, we should be able to determine whether you're lying."  
  
"Right, then." Spike let out a long breath, suddenly feeling tons lighter. This was Giles, here. He wouldn't go back on his word. Whatever happened from here on out, at least Spike was no longer alone. He sniffed, smoothed out his coat, and raised his eyes to meet Giles's. "What are your terms?"  
  
Giles went to the car, pulled Spike's blanket out of the trunk, and tossed it to him. "The car stays here. We can't have your minions tracing it back to us."  
  
"Fine. Not really mine anyway."  
  
"Yes, well. You'll be subject to a full body search upon arrival. We have to know you're not wired or carrying any tracking devices."  
  
Spike grimaced, but shrugged. "Whatever."  
  
Giles rummaged through the trunk, and pulled out some bungee cords. "I think it's best if I tie you up."  
  
"Well in that case, you'll have to hold my blanket for me. Could get awkward, if it's a long hike."  
  
"Point." Giles considered the cords, and shoved them in his pocket. "Perhaps we'll wait until we're closer to our destination."  
  
Spike nodded. "Get the weapons. I'm sure it'll make your people feel better if you're armed to the teeth." He retrieved the crossbow and tossed it to Giles, who already held the battleaxes in his other hand.  
  
"Right. Let's go then." Giles started to lead the way, but something caught Spike's attention.  
  
"Hold up. You hear that?"  
  
"Hear what?"  
  
Spike shushed him, and dropped his blanket. He crept towards a small birch, careful not to make any noise. There, on the other side, perched on a low branch ... With supernatural speed he lunged and snagged his prey, snapping the creature's neck with one swift flick of the wrist.  
  
Giles stared at him like he'd gone mad. "What, afraid Adam's employing the squirrels as spies?"  
  
"Wouldn't put it past the bastard," Spike muttered, vamping out and raising the squirrel to his mouth. He stopped when he realized Giles was still staring at him. "Look, I haven't fed since I got to this sodding hell dimension. You don't want me going into the lion's den feeling all peckish, do you?"  
  
Giles grimaced and looked away.   
  
Spike bit into the rodent and drained it, and then chucked it behind the tree. With a grimace of his own, he spit out a mouthful of fur. "God, I can't wait to get back to my own world. Never thought I'd feel so nostalgic for a nice pint of hog's blood."  
  
"Yes, well. If you're ready?" Giles took off, motioning for him to follow. Spike wiped his mouth, grabbed his blanket and did just that.  
  
***  
  
The hike through the woods hadn't taken long, but the walk from there to Rupert's super-secret headquarters proved to be more than the blanket could handle. Giles got to put his bungee cords to use when they stopped in an abandoned garage. Spike sat still like a good willing hostage while Giles tied him to some shelves, even though, as Spike pointed out, he didn't plan on going anywhere, and even if he did he wouldn't get very far, what with the sun beating down and his blanket thoroughly charred and all. Still, Giles insisted. It'd look better to the others. So Spike sat, and pretended like he couldn't easily tear the shelves out of the wall if he wanted, and waited while Giles went to fetch him a ride.  
  
After about an hour (during which he'd sung his way through the Ramones' entire first album and half the A side of _Leave Home_; anything to keep his mind off what might happen to him if Giles decided not to believe him -- and worse, what would happen to Buffy) a rust-covered pickup truck pulled into the garage. Three men piled out of the cab. Well, two men and a demon, though the last could pass for a human were it not for his bright yellow scales.  
  
One of the humans, a tall black man with a shaven head, approached Spike. He carried a homemade axe that looked like it'd been fashioned out of a hubcap. "You must be Spike." He looked him up and down. "You don't look half as bad as your rep."  
  
"Sorry to disappoint," Spike said. "Maybe if I weren't quite so tied up --"  
  
"Why are you talking to him?" asked the demon, a skittish-looking fellow with a nasally voice. "Giles didn't say to talk to him. He just said to search him and then bring him back to HQ."  
  
"Yo, Kester, chill. I know my orders, all right?"  
  
"Yes, of course, Charles. Don't mind me. I mean, just because this _parnach_ personally delivered my sister to Adam for spare parts --"  
  
"Kester!" The human put a hand on the demon's shoulder. "I know what he did, okay? We all lost people 'cause of him."  
  
What was that Spike had said about the lion's den?  
  
"I just don't see why we're making deals with him," Kester continued. "We should throw him out in the sun and be done with it."  
  
"Giles said he has information we need."  
  
"You ask me," said the other human, a smallish man with brownish-blond hair and a world-weary expression fixed on his young face, "Giles is too trusting." He spoke with a slight southwestern twang as he hauled some equipment out of the back of the truck.  
  
"Yeah, that's what I said when he let _your_ traitor ass on the team. And nobody asked you, Lindsey."  
  
Lindsey set the equipment down with a clunk.  
  
"Hey, careful with that!" said Kester.  
  
"Kiss my ass, Gunn," said Lindsey. "Doesn't it hold _any_ weight with you people that I left my firm at risk to my _life_?"  
  
"You left your firm _after_ they sold out Angel and Cordelia, and Adam's troops raided your office. _That_ carries a hell of a lot of weight with me."  
  
"Um, guys?" said Kester.  
  
Lindsey shoved him aside and got in the other man's face. "You want to lay down your little toy there and have a go at me, Gunn? Huh?"  
  
"Guys, I really don't think --"  
  
"Ladies!" As amusing as this was, Spike had better things to do. They all looked at him. "You're both pretty. Now I believe Giles said something about a search?"  
  
After one last glare at Gunn, Lindsey turned back to the equipment. Gunn smirked at Spike as he produced a very large knife from his cargo pants. Then he bent down and cut through the bungee cords that bound Spike's wrists. "Stand up," he ordered, pocketing the knife. Spike got to his feet. "Now take off your clothes."  
  
Spike raised an eyebrow as he shrugged off his coat. As he undid his belt, he glanced coyly through his lashes at Gunn. "I hope you're planning on buying me dinner later." He heard the whine of something electronic powering up, and looked over at Lindsey, who held a large metal wand. Spike paused in the middle of unbuttoning his jeans. "Um ... just where are you planning to stick _that _thing?"  
  
Lindsey sighed. "It's like a metal detector. You got anything on or in you that picks up or puts out any kind of signal, this'll pick it up."  
  
Spike gave a conciliatory nod, and continued to strip. Once his clothes were off, Lindsey waved the wand through the air all around him. Spike didn't mind the nudity so much, but he was relieved at the lack thus far of touching and spreading and poking around in places these fellows had no business putting their hands. The wand passed over his head without so much as a blip. Guess he really was chipless, then. He hadn't been too eager to put that theory to the test.  
  
"He's clean," Lindsey proclaimed at last.  
  
"Great," said Gunn. "You can put your clothes back on."  
  
Kester's nose wrinkled up. "He smells funny."  
  
Gunn sniffed the air, then shrugged. "Smells okay to me, Dude."  
  
"No, it's like ..." He sniffed again. "I think this vampire has a soul."  
  
Gunn and Lindsey exchanged a look, then both turned to Spike. He glanced from one to the other, then shrugged and went back to buttoning his jeans.  
  
"No, man." Gunn shook his head. "You must be smelling fumes from the truck or something. Angel had a soul, and this dude ain't nothing like Angel."  
  
"You can say that again," Spike muttered.  
  
"Somebody talking to you?"  
  
Spike glared at the boy as he shrugged back into his coat. "We done here?"  
  
Gunn looked at Lindsey, who nodded. "Just let me load this up. I'll ride in the back."  
  
"Great." Gunn pointed at the truck. "Hop on in, fellas."  
  
Spike got in the cab between Gunn and Kester. The demon handed him a fresh blanket. "Put this over your head. And _no peeking_."  
  
With a roll of his eyes, Spike covered up with the blanket. Another minute, and they were on their way.  
  
***  
  
They made him keep the blanket over his head as they led him inside and through a series of corridors. Slow-going, as he kept stumbling over bits of debris. The place smelled charred, and dank, and ... oddly familiar. After a few more turns they brought him into a room full of people. He could smell them, sense their humanity pressing in all around him.   
  
Finally his escorts stopped, and whipped off the blanket. Spike focused on his surroundings, trying not to make eye contact with any of the people. He could feel their hostility, and at the moment he wasn't too keen on seeing it written on their faces. So he took in the fallen beams, the blackened walls and ceiling, and the fissure in the middle of the floor. Familiar was right.   
  
"Oi," he said, jerking his chin at the crevasse, "that's the Hellmouth, innit?"  
  
Gunn's grip on his arm tightened. "Yo, G, I thought you said he'd never been here before."  
  
"I didn't think he had," said Giles as he stepped out from the midst of the small crowd.  
  
"Sure I have," said Spike. "Came here with the Scoobies a while back, helped 'em keep some Vahrall demons from opening it up."  
  
Giles folded his arms. "Is that right?"  
  
Spike nodded. "That was a rough gig. Fun, though." He turned to Kester. "That was how I found I could still kill de--" He stopped under the full force of Kester's glare, and swallowed. "Um. Never mind."  
  
He felt the cold steel of a blade dig into his neck. "If he knows where we are then we'll have to kill him," said a young female. Spike followed the blade and the voice to a petite Asian girl who looked about the same age as Dawn.  
  
"Stand down, Lauren," Giles ordered. The girl sheathed her sword, but her eyes shot stakes at Spike as she backed away.  
  
Spike raised an eyebrow and looked at Giles. "New Slayer?"   
  
Giles nodded.   
  
Of course. He wondered why Slayers always came in such tiny packages. Something about lulling the enemy into a false sense of confidence, he reckoned. At least he'd never had to worry about Dawn ever being chosen. Bit was too damned tall to be a Slayer. Speaking of ... he scanned the crowd, finally taking in their faces. No sign of her. No sign of _anyone_ he knew. Just a bunch of strangers who hated him a whole hell of a lot.  
  
"The Slayer's right," said someone behind him. "He may not be wired, but if he escapes he could lead Adam's army right to us."  
  
That voice, Spike knew. His hackles raised, he tore his arm out of Gunn's grasp and turned around. He slipped into game face at the sight of the bastard and lunged. The boy yelped and jumped against the wall as several pairs of arms wound around Spike and held him back.   
  
"You're willing to work with _him_?!" he and the boy both shouted.  
  
"Calm down, Warren," Giles said, stepping between them.  
  
"But he just--"  
  
Giles raised a hand to shush him, then looked at Spike. "You're really not helping your case."  
  
"You'd do well to keep your eye on this one, Giles. Not a good idea letting Señor Sociopath here run loose."  
  
"Yeah, like you're one to talk, vampire," said Warren.  
  
"Warren, please." Giles turned back to Spike. "Whatever he did in your reality, here he's done nothing wrong, and has in fact been a great help to our cause."  
  
"I still can't believe you're gonna believe that cockamamie story of his," Warren said.  
  
"Oh yeh, Robot Boy? Tell me, how's the girlfriend? You get her built before Adam screwed up your plans for world domination, or was she still in the planning stages?"  
  
"She -- that -- " Warren glanced around at the others, giggling nervously. "I have no idea what he's talking about. Must be on some kind of vampire crack."  
  
"That's enough!" Giles barked, and everyone came to attention. Spike willed his features to return to human.  
  
"The geek has a point," said Gunn. "Why're we putting any stock in anything this son of a bitch says? Where's Shortstop with that truth spell?"  
  
"Good question." Giles went out into the hall. "Jonathan!" he called. "Is everything ready?"  
  
"Hold on!" replied a nasally voice, and in a moment the short nerd appeared. Spike rolled his eyes. Brilliant. His fate would be determined by Curly and Moe. He scanned the crowd again. No sign of Shemp.  
  
"There's a problem," Jonathan said. "We don't have all the ingredients for the truth spell."  
  
Giles sighed, and lifted his glasses to rub his eyes. "Lovely."  
  
"Guess you'll have to let me kill him," said the Slayer.  
  
"Lauren, please. You're not helping."  
  
"I bet it wouldn't have worked anyway," said Warren. "If he's so willing to let us do one, he's probably warded against it."  
  
Spike spared a moment to glare at Warren, then jerked away from Gunn. "Look, you don't need a bloody truth spell. You." He pointed at the short one. "Jonathan. I know you. You used to worship the Scooby gang."  
  
"Did not!" said Jonathan. Spike raised an eyebrow at him, and he shuffled his feet. "Well, I mean, Buffy was all cool with her superpowers, and they saved my life and stuff."  
  
A demon entered behind Jonathan, all floppy ears and baggy skin. Spike grinned. "Clement!"  
  
Clem looked up, startled. "Yeah?"  
  
"How's Petunia?"  
  
His eyes narrowed. "My mother is just fine, no thanks to you. She's safe, and somewhere you won't find her."  
  
Spike sighed, and rubbed his temples. His head hurt. "Where the hell is Harris? I could dish all kinds of dirt on him."  
  
"He's dead."  
  
Spike looked at Giles. His hands fell limp at his sides. "How ..." He swallowed. "Did I ..."  
  
"No." Giles came to stand next to him, and stared at the fissure in the floor. "You say you were there the night the Vahrall demons attempted to sacrifice themselves and open the Hellmouth?"  
  
"Yeh. We were all there. Me, Xander, Willow ... Buffy and G.I. Schmoe ..."  
  
Giles nodded. "Well in this reality, neither you nor Willow were with them." He smiled, but it lacked any mirth. "Willow had already been turned, you see."  
  
Spike closed his eyes. "Yeh."  
  
"Apparently, that made all the difference. While Buffy and Riley were busy fighting two of the demons, the third managed to throw Xander into the Hellmouth."  
  
Spike looked up at the ceiling, and sighed. Figured. Halfrek took away his chip, then stranded him in a world where the one person he wanted to hit more than anything was long dead. Ha bloody ha. He looked back at Giles. "There was no love lost between Xander and me," he said, "but I never wished the boy dead." He considered this and added, "Least, not recently."  
  
"Hm." Giles eyed the Hellmouth for a moment, then met Spike's gaze. "Though it appears your wish accomplished just that." He put his hands in his pockets, and hung his head.  
  
Clem came over then, and sniffed the air around Spike. "Hey! You guys never said he had a soul!"  
  
Giles's head snapped up.  
  
Kester punched Gunn on the arm. "Told you!"  
  
Giles stepped closer to Spike. "Indeed." He studied him, then raised his eyebrows. "You neglected to mention that."  
  
"Yeh, well. You were already laughing hard enough to piss yourself at the other stuff I told you, didn't want to cause an accident."  
  
Giles smiled a little. "How considerate."  
  
Spike shrugged, then glanced at the rest of his captors. They stared at him -- gobsmacked, the lot of them. He rolled his eyes and dug out his cigarettes.  
  
"Please don't," Giles said. Off Spike's raised eyebrow he added, "This place has very poor ventilation."  
  
With a sigh, Spike put the pack away. "Look. What're you gonna do about all this?"  
  
"Oh, yes. Um, I did some initial research while the gentlemen went to fetch you, and found a few brief mentions of Halfrek in conjunction with Anyanka. No details as yet, though."  
  
"You'll keep looking?"  
  
"Of course. About the other matter, if you have any information that could help us verify --"  
  
"Oh! Yeh, I do. Hang on." Spike fished the contents out of his breast pocket, and looked at them for a moment. The cigarette caught him off guard. He'd almost forgotten. He tightened his palm around it, ran his thumb over the lip imprint on the filter.  
  
"Lucky fag?"  
  
Spike glanced at Giles. "Something like that." He put it back in his pocket, and handed over the other things. "When I was there last night, I managed to nick Finn's passkey."  
  
Giles turned the badge over in his hand, then handed it to Warren.  
  
"Excellent," Warren said. "The magnetic strip should hold all kinds of data, it might be just what I need to finally crack their firewall."  
  
"Great," said Spike. He pointed at the napkin that Giles still held. "Also got a map of the place."  
  
Giles unfolded the napkin, and raised an eyebrow at Spike. "Hand drawn on a cocktail napkin?"  
  
Spike snorted. "I'll wager it's more accurate than anything Barry Ween here'll find in the Initiative database. I mean, yeh, it's been a couple years and I drew it from memory, but still." He pointed at a spot on the map. "Buffy's being kept here. There's a secret lab behind it, won't show up on any official maps. And there are passageways leading out from there."  
  
Giles nodded, and handed the map to Warren. "I'm sure it will be useful. Anything else?"  
  
Spike shook his head. "I wasn't there very long. I did see that they've got just about every inch of that place under surveillance, and Adam's got a constant eye on the monitors."  
  
"That's to be expected," said Giles.   
  
"There is one other thing," Spike told him.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"They've ... they've also got Tara."  
  
Giles stared blankly. "Who's Tara?"  
  
Spike closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "'Course, you never would've met, what with Willow being dead ..." He opened his eyes. "She's a friend. One of the Scoobies ... or, she was, in my world, at least. She's a witch. Not as powerful as Willow, but she could help. We should try to spring her, too."  
  
Giles considered this. "A witch, you say?"  
  
Spike nodded.  
  
"She must've been taken when Adam rounded up all the magic users."  
  
"That's when they got Andrew and Tucker," Jonathan said. "I barely made it out of there. Did a glamor to make myself look like Adam. Stupid vampires bought it." He glanced at Spike. "No offense."  
  
"I remember," Giles said. "I narrowly escaped capture myself." He looked at Spike. "We'll look into what you've told us." He turned to Gunn and Kester. "Take him to the teacher's lounge. That door still has a working lock."  
  
"Still don't trust me, Rupes?"  
  
"In a word, no." He adjusted his glasses. "Although I dare say, I am inclined to believe you."  
  
Spike nodded, and turned to follow Gunn.  
  
"Oh, and Spike? If you are lying ..."  
  
"Yeh, yeh. Unbearable pain and incomparable suffering." He looked hard at Giles. "She's there, Rupert."  
  
Giles held his gaze for a moment, then nodded at Gunn.  
  
"Let's go, Soul Man," Gunn said, and led him down the hall.  
  
***  
  
This room wasn't in as bad a shape as the rest of the school. The door was still intact, for one thing. There were spots on the walls where the paint had liquefied and boiled, then dried that way, but for the most part it looked untouched by the fire. Most of the room's furnishings had obviously been moved out or cannibalized for other things, but a table and a single chair sat off to one side. Spike lay stretched out on the table, counting the holes in the slightly charred ceiling tile.  
  
The door creaked open, and he propped himself up on his elbows. Giles entered, carrying a stack of books, a coffee mug balanced precariously on top. As Giles shut the door behind him, Spike sat up and swung his legs around to dangle off the table.   
  
Giles nodded as he plunked the books down. "Thought you might as well make yourself useful." He pointed at the books. "These all have various mentions of vengeance and justice in demon societies. Might be something about Halfrek in there."  
  
Spike grabbed a book off the top and flipped through it. "Don't suppose there's any chance of getting help from Anya."  
  
"Ah, no. No, she left town shortly after Xander ..." He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid we haven't heard from her since." He indicated the mug. "This is for you. It's chicken. Probably not as good as your usual drink, but it's got to be better than squirrel."  
  
Spike picked it up and sniffed the contents, then took a sip. "Thanks."  
  
"Certainly." Giles adjusted his glasses.  
  
"Something on your mind, Rupert?"  
  
Giles looked sideways at Spike, then nodded. "You'll be happy to know that Warren was able to use the data from the passkey you provided to hack into the Initiative's surveillance archives."  
  
"And?"  
  
"We saw her."  
  
"Oh." Spike set his mug down. "What did you see, exactly?"  
  
Giles took off his glasses and began to clean them. "Footage of her being led around the place, mostly. Some of ... of the laboratory experiments ... My God, Spike. The things they did to her ..."  
  
"There a camera in her cell?"  
  
Giles's hand shook as he put his glasses back on. "There doesn't appear to be."  
  
Spike closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. 'Course there wasn't. He'd be dust already if Giles had seen the things that went on inside 314.  
  
"You were right," Giles continued. "Getting her out of there is imperative."  
  
"We have a plan, then?"  
  
"We're devising one. The map you drew should prove useful. Warren is working on accessing the main security feed. Once he does he should be able to bugger up the cameras."  
  
"How long?"  
  
"A few hours."  
  
"Then we can go tonight."  
  
Giles raised an eyebrow. "We?"  
  
"Yes, _we_. Or more accurately, _me_. I'm the only one who has legitimate reasons to be there, if I get caught. I'm also the only one who knows my way around that place, not to mention the tunnels ... 'Sides, I'm the most expendable person you've got."  
  
"True. Of course, you're also the one who stands to gain the most by betraying us."  
  
Spike hung his head and sighed.   
  
"Though I suppose we ought to be able to come up with some sort of precautionary measures to ensure that you don't."  
  
Spike shrugged. "Whatever makes you feel better, mate."  
  
"Having Buffy here will make me feel better." Giles also sighed. "I can't argue that you're not the most logical choice for the mission. Once Warren is in I'll come back and we can finalize the plan."  
  
"Right. Good."   
  
Giles nodded, and turned to leave.   
  
"Rupert ... something else."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Buffy's family. They ... they make it through all this okay?"  
  
Giles put his hands in his pockets as he considered the question. "After the first battle with Adam, I got her mother safely away to Los Angeles. But she took ill and passed away soon after. I have no idea what became of Buffy's father."  
  
Spike nodded. "And Dawn?"  
  
"I don't know of anyone named Dawn."  
  
Spike barked out a disbelieving laugh. "What do you mean you don't know her? She's Buffy's sis--" Suddenly he couldn't speak because an invisible hand plunged past his ribcage and clutched his heart. He slid off the table and staggered to the chair, but he didn't sit down. "Oh, God."  
  
"Are you all right?" Giles took a hesitant step toward him.  
  
"Oh, God, I ... how could I ..." He sunk into the chair as his knees gave out, and he struggled to draw breath before he remembering that he didn't need it. He looked up at Giles. "I made Dawn not exist."  
  
"Spike, who --" He stopped at the sound of shattering porcelain, and stared in irritation at the blood running down the wall. "We slaughtered that chicken special for you, you know."  
  
Spike barely heard him. He paced the room, trying to work it all out. "Buffy couldn't exactly protect the Key if she was all locked up, could she?" He ran a hand through his hair, tugged at a fistful in frustration. "Monks probably turned her into a bleeding toothpick or somesuch. God!" He stopped pacing and looked at Giles. "Well, whatever they did with her, it must've worked, 'cause you're all still here." He looked around the room and shook his head. "'Course, it's not like anyone in this world'd notice if Glory unleashed a little hell on her way back home."  
  
Giles leaned against the table, casting a wary glance at Spike. "I'll just take it on faith that you're carrying on about events from your own timeline and that you're not a bloody raving loony."  
  
Feeling slightly more calm, Spike nodded.  
  
"Who is Dawn?"  
  
"Buffy's kid sis."  
  
"But Buffy never had a sister."  
  
"Yeh." Spike went to lean next to Giles. "Let's just say she was adopted." No sense trying to explain the Key.  
  
"I take it you care for her."  
  
Spike nodded, then frowned at Giles's raised eyebrow. "Not like that, you wanker. Bit's just a kid. Promised Buffy I'd look after her." He shook his head. "Doing a damn fine job of that, ain't I? Wishing her out of existence and all ..."  
  
"Yes, well." Surprisingly, Giles put a hand on his shoulder. "You couldn't have known."  
  
Spike looked at the hand, then at Giles. Then he sighed. "Yes, I bloody well could have. I _should_ have!" He shrugged off the hand and paced some more. "I have to fix this, Giles. We'll summon D'Hoffryn himself, get me to Arashmahar if you have to." He stopped. "I have to make it right."  
  
Giles regarded him for a moment, then stood up. "We'll keep looking, Spike. I'm afraid that's all I can promise." He pointed at the books. "I'm sure the solution will come."  
  
Spike nodded. "Thanks, Rupert."  
  
"For what?"  
  
He managed a small smile. "For the benefit of the doubt, however slim. S'more than I usually get."  
  
Giles nodded. "Try to get some rest," he said. "If Warren is successful, we'll have a busy night."   
  
As Giles left, Spike turned to the pile of books on the table. He picked up the one he'd been looking at. Lots of reading to do. It would take time, but if the way to Halfrek was in one of these, he'd find it. He had nothing _but_ time. If it took him an eternity, he'd find it.  
  
And meanwhile? Maybe he could make up for some of the damage this world's Spike had done. Rescuing Buffy would be a start. They were close. Had to hand it to Warren, the kid knew his stuff. Tonight, Spike would go get her, and give her back to Giles. He'd make things better for her, somehow. Whatever it took.  
  
At least he could do that much right.  
  
***  
  
END, PART FIVE 

Next: _Two Birds, One Schmoe_  
  



	6. Two Birds, One Schmoe

Perfect World

Part Six: Two Birds, One Schmoe 

by cousinjean   


***  
  
They decided to go at sunrise. Safer, as the vampire patrols would be turning in for the day, plus it added an element of surprise. Nobody ever launched an attack at dawn. Leastwise, not in Sunnydale.  
  
The plan was simple: Spike would go in alone, while the others created a diversion to occupy Adam and the guards. Warren had already hacked into the system, and would prevent Spike from showing up on the monitors. He'd grab the girls and get out through the tunnels. After a quick errand, they'd all meet up in his crypt.  
  
"You're sure you know which crypt I mean?" Spike asked Giles.  
  
"Yes, Spike. For the tenth time, I'm quite familiar with it."  
  
Spike nodded. "Just making sure. You should probably come alone."  
  
"Like hell," said Gunn from the driver's seat.  
  
"Quite right, Charles, but Spike does have a point. The smaller our number, the less likely we'll be seen."  
  
"Yeh," said Spike, "and barricade yourselves in once you get there, just in case you _are_ seen. I won't be bringing the girls through the front door, anyway."  
  
"Just get them there," said Giles. "Don't worry about us." He put a hand on the dash to keep from leaning into Spike as they rounded a corner. "You have the list?"  
  
Spike pulled it out of his pocket to show it to him, then put it away.  
  
"Good. Don't lose that. You're sure you'll be able to get into the magic shop?"  
  
"Willow works for me, don't she?"  
  
"In theory," said Giles. "It's been impossible for us to get in and get supplies since she took up residence there."  
  
"No worries, Rupes. I'll get the stuff."  
  
Giles nodded. "Hopefully, Halfrek's summoning spell uses the same ingredients as Anyanka's. If this Tara is as adept as you claim, she should be able to help me with any necessary modifications."  
  
"We're here," Gunn announced, pulling the truck off the side of the road. The three men climbed out of the cab while a motley crew of humans, demons and Slayer looked on from the back of the truck.  
  
"Two sentries guard the entrance," Spike said, scratching his neck. The sun wasn't over the horizon yet, but the sky was light enough to make his skin tingle. "Take them out, getting inside will be a cake walk. I need help for that. Who's with me?"  
  
"Me," said Lauren, hopping down from the truck bed.  
  
Clem raised his hand. "I'll go."  
  
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Those Franken-soldiers are tough, mate. You sure you can handle yourself?"  
  
"I know I don't look like much," he said, "but I swing a pretty mean axe. Besides, it'll look more convincing if you have a demon in the mix."  
  
Spike nodded. "Right, then. Giles?"  
  
He held up some manacles. "I'm afraid we only have this one pair."  
  
"You put 'em on, and take the lead. The rest of you, just ... keep your hands out of sight."  
  
"Right." Giles turned to Gunn. "You know what to do?"  
  
Gunn nodded. "Take the homies, get in front of the cameras, raise some hell and bring the soldier freaks running."  
  
"And get the hell out before we're caught," added Lindsey.  
  
"Yes, good." Giles looked around at the rest of the group. "Do be careful. Perhaps Jonathan could simply create the illusion of mayhem?"  
  
Gunn grinned, and punched him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, G. We'll watch our backs. You just be sure to watch yours," he said with a pointed glare at Spike. "I already lost one of my favorite English the last time we stormed this castle." He looked back at Giles. "I don't want to lose the other one."  
  
Giles smiled. "We're taking every precaution, Charles. I'll see you at the rendezvous point."  
  
Gunn nodded. "You better." He got back in the truck. The remaining four stood back and watched as they drove away.  
  
"All right, people! Show time." He checked Giles's manacles and looked over the Slayer and Clem to make sure their weapons weren't visible. Then he nodded. "Let's go."  
  
He led them up the path to the cave entrance. Sure enough, Hekel and Jekel stood guard. Hekel stepped in front of the opening. "Who goes there?"  
  
"Spike goes here." He did his best to look pleased as punch despite the butterflies competing for the World Cup in his stomach. "Brought some prezzies for Adam."  
  
"It's not time for your tribute."  
  
"No, but the last one wasn't quite up to par. This ought to make it up to him."  
  
Hekel eyed the threesome. "What've you got?"  
  
"Nothing too fancy. Just the fearless Resistance leader." He pointed at Giles. "Oh, and a Slayer." He put his hands in his pockets and looked up at Hekel.  
  
The guard nodded appreciatively, then looked at Clem. "What's he?"  
  
Spike shrugged. "Hell if I know. He was with the others." He put a hand over his chest and sighed theatrically. "Humans and demons, working together in solidarity. Warms the cockles of my heart, you know?"  
  
Hekel stared blankly at Spike for a moment. Humorless git. Then he turned to Jekel. "Call it in. I'll escort them." He turned back to find Spike suited up and in the midst of a spin kick that knocked his weapon out of his hands.   
  
The other three leapt into action. As the Slayer launched herself at Jekel, Clem tossed an axe to Spike. In one fluid motion he plucked it out of the air, twirled it in his hands and swung; but Hekel blocked, knocking it out of Spike's hand. It flew threw the air, bounced off the lip of the cave, and clattered to the ground.  
  
Hekel swung with his human fist. Spike caught it, but before he could do anything the bastard raked his ribcage with his demon hand, slicing sharp talons through leather, cotton and skin.   
  
"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, clutching his side.   
  
Hekel punched him again, knocking him back a step, then kicked him in the chest. Spike slammed backwards into the cave wall. Stunned, he dropped to one knee. Hekel loomed over him. Spike lunged, tackling the monster into the opposite wall. Hekel let out an "oof!" on impact, but then grabbed Spike and lifted him overhead. He turned to smash Spike headfirst into the stone wall. Then he made a gurgling noise and his arms went limp. Spike fell safely to the ground. Hekel landed on top of him, the head of an axe imbedded in his back.  
  
Spike looked up at his savior. Clem gave him a little wave. "Told you I was good with an axe."  
  
Spike grinned. "Good show." He looked outside the cave, where Giles was scavenging all of Jekel's high-tech toys and the Slayer was wiping her sword on the grass. Spike shoved Hekel off, took Clem's outstretched hand, and got to his feet. He dislodged the axe, then paused to clap the demon on the back and hand it back to him before heading over to Giles.  
  
"Let's hope you don't come up against one of those things inside," Giles said with a disapproving look.  
  
"What? I was handling him."  
  
Giles snorted. "Looked to me like you were doing a thorough job of getting your arse handed to you."  
  
"Yeh, well ... I might point out, you lot were three against one."  
  
"You might. You might also take this with you." Giles handed him Jekel's gun. "But don't use it on Adam. It works like a high-tech taser. He would simply absorb the energy and become stronger."  
  
Spike nodded. "I seem to remember something about that."  
  
Lauren came over, her eyebrows arched high. "You're _arming_ the vampire?"  
  
Giles gave her his most stern Watcherly look. "I'm providing our ally with the means to protect himself on a dangerous mission."  
  
She stood there, hand on hip, eyes darting between them. Then with an exaggerated eyeroll she said, "Whatever." Spike wasn't sure if that look was more typical of sixteen-year-olds or Slayers. He knew one of each, and both excelled at it. And here he'd always thought it was a Summers trademark.  
  
He slung the weapon over his shoulder, then pointed at her sword. "Could actually do with that too, Pet."  
  
"I don't think so." She jerked her head towards Clem. "Take his axe." Clem smiled and held it out to him.  
  
Spike shook his head. "Can't hide the axe in my coat, now can I?"  
  
"How is that my problem?"  
  
"Lauren," Giles sighed, "let Spike borrow your sword."  
  
She looked at Giles, her eyes wide as saucers. "Now you want me to relinquish _my_ weapon to a vampire?"  
  
Giles pushed his glasses up and massaged the bridge of his nose. "These are very special circumstances, Dear."  
  
Spike couldn't help but smirk. "And I'm a very special vampire."  
  
Now _that_ look was pure Slayer.  
  
"Come on, Pet. I promise to return it, all clean and shiny and sharp as ever."  
  
With a put-upon sigh, she unhooked the sheath from her waist and handed it to Spike. "I still say I should go with him," she said as he tucked it inside his coat.  
  
"No," Spike said.  
  
"I'm afraid I must agree," said Giles. "If you were captured you'd prove too much of a liability. And I simply can't afford to lose you." Then he softened, and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I'm not about to trade one Slayer for another. If all goes well, I'll get to spend tonight with _both_ my girls."  
  
Lauren smiled a little, but then turned her glare back on Spike. "What makes you so sure he'll come through?"  
  
"Don't worry, Slayer," Warren's voice crackled, "that's why I'm tagging along."  
  
Giles raised a hand to the tiny communicator hidden in his ear. "Is it time yet?"  
  
"Yup," Warren replied. "I'm in the surveillance system. I can have the camera feeds looped with the touch of a button."  
  
Giles and Spike nodded at each other. "Good luck," Giles said. "Oh, and Spike?"  
  
"This the part where you threaten me again, Rupert?"  
Giles smiled, but then he turned serious. "Not a threat, so much as a reminder. Once you go in there, you're on your own, except for Warren's assistance. If you get caught, we won't come to rescue you. And it won't do you any good to sell us out. Our camp is portable. It's being packed up and prepared to move even as we speak. If you betray us, we'll know, and if Warren loses contact with you, we'll assume the worst."  
  
Spike nodded. "Heard all that the first time, y'know."  
  
"Yes, well. It can't hurt for you to hear it again. Also, remember this." Giles took off his glasses and leveled his gaze at Spike. "If you do betray us ... if you cock up our chances of ever getting her out of there ... you won't be able to find us. But I will most definitely find you." He put his glasses back on. "That last part actually was a threat."  
  
"Yeh, I got that." The gun slipped from his shoulder. Spike sniffed as he pulled it back in place. "I won't fail you, Giles." He turned and entered the cave. As the darkness of the tunnel swallowed him up, he added softly, "I won't fail her."  
  
And he wouldn't. Not this time. That was the whole point of the soul, wasn't it? So he could stop hurting her, and become the kind of man who made things better for her for a change? Hadn't worked out that way so far. He had thought -- had really believed -- that the two of them, Spike and William combined, could be enough of a man for her. He took a deep breath as he reached the entrance. Guess it was time to test that theory.  
  
He pulled Finn's keycard out of his pocket and ran it through the lock. Nothing happened.  
  
"Warren?"  
  
"Hold on," came the reply. "Shit. His code's been reconfigured."  
  
"Bloody ... What now?"  
  
"Give me a minute." In the long stretch of silence that followed, Spike alternated between wanting to smoke and wanting to smash things. "Okay," Warren said at last. "Try it now."  
  
Again, Spike slid the card through the reader. This time it beeped at him, and he stood back as the door slid open. He waved his gun in front of the opening. When nothing happened, he tucked the weapon under his coat and peeked inside. The corridor was empty. He stepped through the door.  
  
"You're sure I'm not on the telly?" he whispered as he started down the long hallway.  
  
"Nope, you're as invisible to the cameras as a ..." Warren giggled.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing. Just ... I was gonna say 'as a vampire.'"  
  
Spike rolled his eyes.  
  
"But I guess that's a fallacy, huh? Y'know, I've always wondered why that is. I mean, digital devices, yeah, but regular cameras work with, like, mirrors and lenses and stuff, so you'd think--"  
  
"This thing have an off switch?" Spike dug the communicator out of his ear and looked it over.   
  
"Jeez, who peed in your Cheerios this morning? I was only trying to make conversation."  
  
"Yeh, well, we're on a mission here, Brain Trust. Now let's focus, shall we?"  
  
"Sorry." Warren fell silent, and Spike replaced the device. He came upon the room where he'd met with Adam. Flattening himself against the wall, he edged his head around to look in the floor-to-ceiling window. The television monitors were lit with scenes from around the compound. A few showed Adam's soldiers fighting off members of the Resistance. Spike didn't see himself on any of them. A lone figure stood in the middle of the room, watching.   
  
Finn.  
  
Spike closed his eyes. "Bugger."  
  
"What?" asked Warren.  
  
"Small problem, but nothing unexpected." Spike pulled his head back and slumped against the wall. "Too bad we don't have that invisibility ray of yours."  
  
Warren laughed. "Invisibility ray, huh? Yeah, that would come in handy. Too bad those are science fiction."  
  
Spike looked up at the ceiling. "Right. Fiction." He peeked through the window again. Finn stood at one of the computers, turned so that his peripheral vision would catch any motion in the corridor. Getting past without being seen -- now _that_ presented a problem.  
  
One of the voices at the back of his brain sighed rather theatrically. _Hello, vampire?_ _'Bout time you started thinking like one of those, innit?_ Of course. He didn't have all this super-speed for nothing, did he? "Warren, can you see into the monitor station?"  
  
"Uh ... yeah. Got it."  
  
"Tell me when Finn turns his back to the window."  
  
"Sure." Another silence stretched too long for Spike's liking. Then, "Okay, now!"  
  
Spike flew past the window and open door. He didn't stop till he reached the end of the corridor, where he rounded a corner and waited, gun at the ready. "Did he see me?"  
  
"Nope, you're in the clear."  
  
With a relieved sigh, Spike turned and proceeded to the holding area, following the path that Finn had led him on ... had it only been the morning before? It felt like so much longer. Only two nights ago he had stood with Buffy on her front porch, fighting to conceal his amazement as she invited him in for a cuppa ... two nights ago, and a world away from where he was now.  
  
He started down a row of cells, keeping his eyes straight ahead, just as he'd done before. He didn't think he could take it if any of them cried out for help, didn't want to know how it would feel to refuse them. Thankfully, they didn't ask. Instead, they shrunk away from the glass ... away from _him_. They knew better. His was not the face of a savior.  
  
She reacted the same way when she saw him coming, and backed all the way up against the wall when he stopped in front of her cage. He _did_ look at her, tried to reassure her with his eyes, but she just dropped her gaze and slid down the wall into a huddle on the floor. With a sigh, Spike scanned the wall for the lock. He ran his card through the reader and stood back as the glass slid up into the ceiling. She stared at him in wide-eyed terror as he stepped into the cell.  
  
"It's all right, Tara," he said gently, extending his hand. "Come on, Pet. I'm getting you out of here."  
  
"W-where ..." She closed her eyes as she struggled to speak. "Where are you t-taking me?"  
  
"Someplace safe, I promise."  
  
She stared at his hand, her doe-eyes full of fear.  
  
His shoulders slumped a little. "Tara, I'm not gonna hurt you. We're running out of time. We need to go. _Now._"  
  
She lifted her eyes to meet his, and searched deep. Spike held her gaze, unwavering, no matter how much her probing eyes unnerved him. She must've found something there that satisfied her, because she reached up and let him help her to her feet.  
  
"Wh... why ..." she began as he led her out of the cell, but he shushed her.  
  
"I'll explain it all once we're out of here, all right?"  
  
She swallowed, and nodded. He motioned for her to stay close as they made their way to 314. Once there, the outer door opened easily, by order of Finn's keycard. Spike started to slide it through the reader on the inner door.  
  
"Hang on," said Warren.  
  
Spike froze, card poised above the lock. "What?"  
  
"Didn't you say this door has a secondary security measure?"  
  
_Oh sodding hell. _"Right, yeh. Retinal scan."  
  
"I'm trying to crack it," said Warren. "Don't run the card through. If the system doesn't like the scan results after it reads the card, all hell might break loose."  
  
"Good thinking. But hurry, will you?"  
  
"Who are you t-talking to?" asked Tara, looking even more frightened than before.  
  
Spike tried to smile reassuringly as he pointed to his earpiece. "It's just ..." His voice trailed off as the irony hit him. He shook his head. "Nobody you need to worry about, Pet."  
  
She nodded, but didn't look any less worried as she hugged herself.  
  
"Come on with that lock."  
  
"Uh ... problem," said Warren.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"This lock has all kinds of redundancies. I mean, they are _really_ serious about security on this door. I'm pretty sure I can get past them all, but it's gonna take some time."  
  
"How much time?"  
  
"More than you have," answered Finn.  
  
Spike turned to see the hulking former Iowa boy filling the door frame. Arms crossed, he looked from Tara to Spike to the cell door. "Let me guess. You're trying to get in a little three-way action with the Slayer?"  
  
A slow smirk spread across Spike's face. "Something like that. Wanna watch?" He pointed his thumb at the door behind him. "Let us in, we might even let you play."  
  
Finn returned his smirk. Then he unfolded his arms and advanced on Spike.   
  
Spike got his gun up and pulled the trigger. Nothing. "Balls," he muttered, frowning at the controls on the side of the weapon.  
  
Finn laughed and grabbed hold of the gun. "You have to turn off the safety." He shoved the butt into Spike's face. Spike released it in favor of holding his nose as he staggered back. Before he could fall, a clawed hand reached out, grabbed the front of his shirt, and flung him into the hallway. Spike hit the floor and skidded head first into the opposite wall. Finn came at him, whipping the gun around and taking aim. Soon as he got close enough, Spike kicked the gun out of Finn's hands and sent it skittering down the corridor.  
  
Spike flipped onto his feet, landing -- game face on -- in a feral crouch. The two creatures locked eyes. Finn sneered, and Spike growled. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike saw Tara sneak into the hall behind Finn. "Tara, stay back!"  
  
Finn started towards Tara. Spike leapt to intercept, but Finn's move was a feint. He spun and landed a boot to Spike's face, knocking him back to the ground. Finn laughed as Spike struggled to sit up and wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Finn loomed over Spike, folding his arms.  
  
"Trying to protect the witch?" Finn shook his head. "I knew that soul of yours would be a problem." He reached for his own weapon, strapped to his leg. As he leveled it at Spike, his eyes widened, and he turned around. Tara was backing away, holding the other gun like a club. Finn rubbed the back of his head and advanced on her. "You _really_ shouldn't have done that."   
  
Spike got to his feet. As Finn took aim at Tara, Spike pulled the Slayer's sword from his coat and lunged. The blade penetrated Finn's kidneys and exited through his gut. He looked down at the tip protruding from his stomach, and laughed. Spike gave it a twist, making Finn gasp. Then he pulled it out. Finn dropped to his knees and fell face first to the ground.  
  
Spike nudged him with a boot. No response. He looked at Tara. "Bully for teamwork."  
  
Still holding her gun like she was next up to bat at cricket, she stood beside Spike and looked down at Finn. "I d-didn't know how to turn off the safety."  
  
Spike shrugged. "Whatever works, yeh?" His features returned to human as he grinned at her.  
  
She offered him a tentative smile and nodded her head. Then her eyes grew wide and she screamed. She grabbed Spike by the shoulder and started hopping up and down. "Oh, God! Get it off! Get it off!"  
  
Finn's demon claw clutched her ankle. Finn himself still appeared unconscious. Spike stomped on the animated hand until it released its grip, then he stabbed it with the sword as Tara backed up against the wall. The hand twitched a couple of times, then went limp.  
  
God, he hated this world.  
  
Spike leaned on the sword for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "Warren? How's that lock coming?"  
  
Silence.  
  
Spike frowned. "Warren!"  
  
"Uh ... bad news, man. I can't get around the secondary measures. Maybe if I had a few hours ..."  
  
Spike sniffed, and wiped more blood from his nose. "Not a problem," he said. He yanked the sword out of the dead hand, and with a twirl and a flourish, sliced off Finn's head. "Here, hold this," he told Tara, handing her the blade by the hilt. She took it, but she and the sword both trembled as she watched Spike pick up the head. He went back through the outer door to 314, resting the head against his hip like a soccer ball as he fished the card out of his pocket with his free hand.   
  
He ran the card through the reader. "Please hold for retinal scan," came the response. Spike pulled back Finn's eyelids, then held the head up for the scanner. "Recognition: Finn, Riley. Second in command." The door opened. Spike turned and punted the head back into the hall with a mutter of "Pillock!" Then he retrieved the sword from Tara and ushered her into the cell.  
  
Buffy sat on the floor, slumped against the wall beside the door. No straightjacket this time. Spike crouched in front of her. "Buffy?"  
  
Her glassy eyes stared straight through him.  
  
Spike took her gently by the wrist and lifted her hand. When he let it go, it fell limply to her lap. He let out a slow breath. "She's gone catatonic again."  
  
"No," said Tara, kneeling beside them. "I ... I read once about w-waxy ... um, I don't remember the term. But it means if you position someone's limbs, they stay in that position? Th ... that's what catatonic people do."  
  
Spike looked at Tara for a moment, then turned back to Buffy. He called her name again. Still nothing. His jaw clenched as he stood up. "Warren, have you got that other door? To the lab?"  
  
"Yeah, it should be on the wall opposite the door you just entered."  
  
Spike turned around. Sure enough, there was a door on that wall. He didn't remember seeing it last time. What's more, it was open. Warren was actually ahead of him for once. "Right, then." He knelt beside Buffy and gathered her into his arms.  
  
"So, what do you think is w-wrong with her?" asked Tara.  
  
"She's been anesthetized," said a voice from inside the lab.   
  
Spike set Buffy back down and turned to see a figure standing in the doorway.  
  
"This," said Adam, tilting his head to regard Spike and Tara, "is unexpected."  
  
***  
  
END, PART SIX  
  
Next: _Bitch In the Box_


	7. Bitch In the Box

Perfect World

Part Seven: Bitch In the Box 

by cousinjean   


***  
  
"This ... is unexpected."  
  
Few times in his existence had Spike felt true fear. That's fear as in pure, blinding, piss-your-pants-if-you're-human terror. Strangely enough, considering that he was -- or had been until recently -- an inherently selfish being, it was usually for someone else's sake.   
  
That last night in Prague, he had felt it. And that endless, critical half-second up on that tower... Moments when he realized he'd been overconfident; that he was outmanned, outgunned ... out-whatever, and that his cockiness would cost him everything in the world that he held dear. In these moments, he knew fear.  
  
He was having one of those moments.  
  
Adam stepped inside the cell. He sniffed the air, and looked at Spike. "You disabled my brother."  
  
Spike snapped out of it. There was too much at stake to let fear slow him down. He gripped his sword. "That's one way of putting it."  
  
Adam smiled in that smug way of his, secure in the belief that nothing could touch him. "No matter. I'll fix him."  
  
Spike moved between Adam and Buffy. "You got any protection spells," he muttered to Tara, "now'd be a good time to use them."  
  
She shook her head, fumbling with the gun. "I c-c-c ... I can't turn off the safety!"  
  
Spike took it from her. "Won't work on him anyway. Get behind me. Get her up." He could hear her muttering something under her breath as she went to Buffy.  
  
Adam made no move. He just watched, like one might watch a spider with vague fascination before growing bored and stepping on it. And this spider couldn't run for it 'cause he had to protect the flies.  
  
"Spike?" Warren. Twerp had the nerve to sound bored. "You get the Slayer yet? What's the hold up?"  
  
"Bit busy at the moment," Spike muttered.  
  
Adam tilted his head to regard Spike. "You're working with _them_ now. Curious. I did not think you would be like the other one."  
  
Spike allowed himself a grim smile. "Y'know, I 'spect there are worse things I could be."  
  
"Who are you talking to?" asked Warren.  
  
Adam stepped closer to Spike and leaned down to speak in his ear. "Me."  
  
"Oh, shit."  
  
"You can bloody well say that again." Taking advantage of the distraction before Adam could straighten back up, Spike thrust the sword at his throat. The bugger caught it before it penetrated. Spike put all of his strength behind the blade, and for the briefest of moments the two of them reached a stale mate. "The lab!" Spike shouted at Tara. "Get in there!"  
  
As Tara pulled Buffy to her feet, Adam grabbed Spike by the front of his shirt. He tore the sword out of Spike's hands and threw him across the room. When he slammed into the wall, his gun bounced and skidded back across the floor to Adam, who picked it up and aimed it at the girls. Spike struggled to get up, but before he could, Adam pulled the trigger. A bolt of energy jumped out of the gun, but dispersed in a field around them. Tara stopped in her tracks, visibly shaking as she struggled to support Buffy, eyes terrified yet determined. Her chanting grew louder.  
  
Spike leapt. "Go!" he shouted as he landed on Adam's back, grabbing his neck in a strangle hold. "That's right," he growled in the bastard's ear. "_I'm_ your problem, not them."  
  
"Indeed." Adam threw himself backwards into the wall, crushing Spike, again and again. But Spike held on. His vision swam, but he could see the girls move through the door into the lab.  
  
"Warren, can --_ unh_!" Maybe he couldn't have the wind knocked out of him, but he still needed air to talk. He got his feet up behind him and kicked off of the wall, shoving himself and Adam forward. "Can you close that other door?"  
  
"Yeah, I th--"  
  
"Do it!"  
  
Adam gave up trying to knock him loose. Spike fought off a wave of dizziness. If he could hold on a bit longer; time this just right ...  
  
Then Adam remembered the sword in his hand. He raised it, and turned it around toward himself. Oh, fuck, this would hurt. Adam plunged the sword into his own gut. It went clean through him and into Spike's side, stopping against his ribs.  
  
"Bloody..." He let go of Adam at last and slumped to the floor, clutching his side as Adam pulled the sword out of his stomach without so much as a flinch. He tossed it aside and moved to stand over Spike. As he raised his arm the Polgara spike shot out of his wrist. He aimed it at Spike's head, but as he brought it down Spike rolled out of the way.  
  
The door started to come down at last. Gritting his teeth, Spike scrambled to his feet and ran. He was going to have to dive for it. He jumped -- and a blast from that fucking useless gun hit him in midair. Stunned, he landed just short of the threshold. Adam lowered the gun and started toward him, but Tara was faster. She grabbed him by the arms and dragged him into the lab just before the door slammed shut.  
  
Spike just lay there for a moment, twitching, until the effects of the blast wore off enough for him to speak. He opened his eyes and looked up at Tara. "Thanks."  
  
She offered him a small smile.  
  
"You too, Warren," he said. "Good show, Mate."  
  
No answer.  
  
"Warren?" Spike's arm felt like lead, but he managed to lift it and dig the communicator out of his ear. He stared at the melted lump of plastic in his hand, then sighed and let his arm go limp as he remembered Giles's "reminder."   
  
_... _ _if Warren loses contact with you, we'll assume the worst ...  
  
_"Sorry, Ladies," he said as he struggled to sit up. "Looks like we're on our own." He felt more than a bit wobbly as Tara helped him stand.  
  
"Y ... you're bleeding," she said, looking at his stomach.  
  
He pressed a palm to his newest wound and then looked at his blood-stained hand. "What else is new," he muttered, and wiped it on his jeans. He glanced around, but didn't see Buffy. His chest constricted. "Where --"  
  
"Under there." Tara pointed at the operating table. "I set her down a-and she rolled ..."  
  
Spike squeezed his eyes shut and blew out a relieved sigh, and then nodded. "Right." He scanned the room for a ladder that stood at the end of a bank of equipment. "We need to get up there." He pointed. "Then we can get out through the tunnels."  
  
"Okay," said Tara. "Um ... how come y--"  
  
A bang on the door cut her off. Spike gave her a gentle push toward the ladder. "Go." Another bang shook the door as he knelt to retrieve Buffy. This time it left a large dent. Spike abandoned all attempts to be gentle and slung Buffy over his shoulder. His head still swam a bit as he got to his feet.   
  
Another bang, and the plaster around the door frame crumbled. Spike shook off his dizziness and ran to the ladder. Tara was already halfway up. When she reached the top she turned to look down at him. "If you want to hand her to me ..."  
  
He shook his head. "Behind you, there should be an opening that leads to the tunnels. See it?"  
  
She glanced around, then nodded.   
  
Just then he heard another bang, followed by a crash. He looked back to see a gaping hole in the wall where the door used to be. Adam was already through it. Spike looked up at Tara, who stared at Adam, her mouth working to form soundless words.   
  
"Run!" he shouted at her.   
  
She snapped out of it, and disappeared from view. Spike climbed behind her as fast as he could. Thankfully, Buffy weighed next to nothing, because his own limbs each felt they weighed a ton. He reached the top rung, but a hand grabbed his ankle and tried to pull him back down. "Typical," he muttered as he hung on single-handed, keeping an iron grip on Buffy with his other arm, and kicked Adam repeatedly in the face. At last the bastard let go and Spike somehow got up the ladder. He didn't spare a glance behind him as he shoved Buffy through the opening and then climbed in after her. Spike slowed down just long enough to pick her up again, and then he ran like hell.  
  
***  
  
"Spike, stop!"  
  
"We're almost there," he said, dragging Tara along behind him. If anyone had followed them, he'd led a merry chase -- twisting and turning through the tunnels and sewers in an attempt to throw off any would-be captors. But now they were back on course. "Just a bit farther," he promised.  
  
She pulled her hand out of his grip. He turned to see her doubled over, hands on her knees, gasping for air. "I can't ..." She shook her head. "Gotta rest."  
  
Spike shifted Buffy in his arms and sighed. He listened for movement behind them, but heard none. No immediate danger, then. "Of course," he told Tara. "Sorry." He moved his weight from foot to foot as he gauged the distance to their destination. "Look," he said when she started to breathe a little easier, "we're really close. Just a few more meters, then you can rest all you need to. All right?"  
  
Tara raised her eyes to meet his, wariness creeping back into her expression now that they no longer faced a mutual threat. "Wh ... where are you taking us?"  
  
"Right now, the magic shop. We need supplies. After that, someplace you'll both be safe."  
  
She studied him again, her eyes roving over him. He rolled his eyes and looked away. He couldn't do this again. Instead he focused on the sleeping girl cradled in his arms. Even as he guarded her, treasure that she was, he clung to her like a life preserver. He knew she wasn't _his_ Buffy -- not that he could rightfully call _any_ Buffy _his_. But she was still Buffy: his love, his purpose ... his life.  
  
"Okay," Tara said at last. She straightened and nodded. "Let's go."  
  
Spike led her to the ladder going up to the trap door that let into the shop's basement. "I'm gonna go up and make sure it's safe," he said, setting Buffy gently on the ground. "Stay with her. If you hear someone coming, give a shout." Tara nodded as she knelt and settled Buffy's head in her lap. Spike took one last look around to make sure they were alone. Satisfied, he climbed the ladder and opened the trap door.  
  
"Willow?" he called out as he stuck his head up through the floor. No answer, and he still had his head. That was a good sign. Still, he climbed on up to have a better look. She'd fixed up the basement; brought in furniture, lined it with candles ... turned it into a proper lair. The lady herself lay stretched out on a bed in the corner -- dead to the world, so to speak. Good thing he'd looked.  
  
"Willow, wake up," he said softly. She didn't stir. Safe bet she wasn't faking, then. Spike dropped back through the trapdoor and landed next to Buffy and Tara below.  
  
Buffy was sitting up, squinting at her surroundings through groggy eyes.  
  
"She just woke up," said Tara. Spike put a finger to his lips to shush her.  
  
Buffy blinked up at him, sleepy confusion giving way to fear and panic. "Spike? Where the hell--"  
  
"Shh, Buffy!" He squatted in front of her and kept his voice low and, he hoped, soothing. "We're underneath the Magic Box. We're going to go up there and get some things, but you _have_ to stay quiet. All right?"  
  
"No, not all right," she spat back at him, and he clamped his hand over her mouth without thinking. Her eyes filled with terror, but that instantly gave way to resignation. Spike wasn't sure which he hated more.  
  
"There is a vampire right above us who would kill you as soon as look at you." He ignored Tara's frightened whimper. "Right now, she's asleep. We have to get past her without waking her up. Which means that _you_ have to stay quiet. Understand?"  
  
Buffy nodded, and he removed his hand from her mouth. She looked up at Tara. "Who're you?" This time, she whispered.  
  
"T-tara. I'm Tara."  
  
"She's a friend," said Spike, standing up. "You up to climbing this ladder yourself?"  
  
Buffy started to get to her feet. Spike reached down to assist, but she jerked her arm away. Tara helped her instead. She looked a bit wobbly, but after a moment she nodded.  
  
"Right, then. I'll go first, just in case Red's awake." He noticed Buffy scanning the tunnel, considering her options, and sighed. Even in this dimension he knew her too well. "There are worse things than me lurking about down here, Pet, and you can't fight them. Best to stick with the devil you know, don't you think?"  
  
She glared at him, but he was right, and she knew it. She wouldn't run.  
  
"Stay close," he said, and went back up the ladder. Once he made sure Willow was still asleep, he turned to help them up. Tara came next, as she'd needed Buffy's help to reach the bottom rung. They both stood back as Buffy climbed through the trapdoor. Spike quietly lowered it, then ushered them toward the stairs. This time Tara led the way, with Buffy in between. Halfway up the stairs, her gaze drifted over to the bed, and she stopped.  
  
"Willow." Her voice caught on the name. She turned to give Spike a look of pure malice the likes of which he'd never seen from her, and he felt his gut twist in an all-too-familiar knot. He knew _he_ hadn't actually turned Willow, but guilt threatened to overwhelm him just the same. After all, it had been his wish that killed her, right? Just because he'd failed to bite her in his own world didn't make him any less culpable in this one. In fact, all of the loss this Buffy had known over the last few years could be laid right at his feet. He swallowed. He wanted to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness, to hand her a stake and bare his chest ... anything that might make her feel even the slightest bit better, if only for a moment. Instead, he urged her to keep going. She continued up the stairs without a fight.  
  
The shop looked different, like it had before Giles bought it. The counter still sat up front, near the door. Gone were the overstuffed chairs and piles of pillows, the lighted table that had become Scooby Central, and most of the ancient tomes Spike was used to seeing along the shelves. No, not gone -- they'd never been there in the first place.   
  
Right, enough of the tourist bit. He had work to do. He pulled out his list and handed it to Tara. "Help me find this stuff?"  
  
Understanding dawned on her face as she scanned it. "Oh ... oh. You think I ..." She shook her head. "I do magic, b-but this ..." She looked up at him, afraid. "It's really advanced. I m-might not be able to ..."  
  
"You're a witch?" Buffy gaped at Tara, then at Spike. "What, you're gonna have her do a love spell on me?"  
  
"What? No ..." _You were going to use a spell on me?_ He closed his eyes and felt his jaw involuntarily clench.  
  
"No," Tara said, "this doesn't look like love spell stuff."  
  
"It's not." Spike looked at Buffy. "This isn't about you." He turned to Tara. "And there's already someone to work it. That's not why I rescued you."  
  
Tara nodded, but she looked only slightly reassured. "Then why --"  
  
But he couldn't let her finish, because he heard footsteps on the basement stairs. _Bloody buggering hell._ He ushered both girls into the bathroom, heading off Buffy's protestations with a whispered "Willow!" He heard the basement door open just as he pulled the bathroom door shut.  
  
"Looking for me?"  
  
Spike turned to see Willow standing there, a hand on her hip and suspicion in her eyes. He smiled. "Who else?"  
  
She looked past him to the bathroom and raised an eyebrow. "I haven't been in one of those since I died." She returned his smile. "Except to eat, I mean."  
  
"Yeh, well. Never know with you women, do you?"  
  
"Guess not." Her smile faded and her eyes narrowed as she slunk toward him. "You were missing." She put a little pout in her words and on her lips. "You _and_ Giles ..."  
  
"Yeh." He sauntered away from the bathroom door -- came as close to sauntering as a bloke with cracked ribs and a stab wound could, at any rate -- and over to a shelf full of dry goods. "He escaped, took me hostage."  
  
This time both eyebrows shot up. "That old man took _you_ hostage?"  
  
"Well he had help, didn't he? Got a new Slayer on his team, for one ..."  
  
Willow finally took notice of his fresh cuts and bruises. "You look like shit."  
  
"Feel like shit. Had a hell of a time escaping. Thought the bastards really had me this time."  
  
"Aw." She sidled up to him and put her hands on his chest. "Poor Spikey." Her hands slid down and pulled his shirt out of his waistband. "Want Willow to kiss and make it better?" She bent to lick the blood caked around his wound. He hissed as she ran a hand over the claw marks on his other side, and she pulled back to look at them. "What did that?"  
  
"Uh ... they got demons working with them."  
  
"Huh. How 'bout that." She grinned up at him, the tip of her tongue poking through her teeth, and got on her knees.   
  
His mind went blank as she went to work undoing his belt. Then his eyes landed on the bathroom door. "Buffy ..."  
  
Willow's hands jumped away from his fly as if it had bitten them. She stood up and frowned, and her shoulders slumped. "If you want somebody to pretend to be _her_, you can go home to Harmony." She turned to walk away.  
  
"No," Spike said, grabbing her arm and turning her back to him. "She's escaped."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Buffy. That's why I came here. I need you to get a team together and go find her."  
  
Willow shook off his hand and stared at him. "Buffy's _dead_. We watched Adam kill her, remember? You said you wished we brought popcorn?"  
  
Spike shook his head impatiently. "She's _not_ dead. Adam's been keeping her as his special pet. I went there after I got away from the Resistance and they told me. We're supposed to bring her back."  
  
"Buffy's alive?" Willow's expression went from shocked to hopeful as this information sunk in, and for a second Spike wondered if there was a bit of the old Willow's feelings left over for her best friend. "Does this mean I get to kill her?" Well. So much for that.  
  
"Adam wants her alive, I expect."  
  
Willow pouted. "Fine." As she looked at him, her eyes narrowed again. "Your aura ..." She sniffed the air. "And that _smell_." _Oh, lovely. Here it comes ..._ "I thought maybe it was the stinky herbs or something, but it's like ... " She wrinkled her nose. "Just like Angel." Her eyes widened and she put a hand over her mouth to suppress a laugh. "Oh my God, you have a _soul_?!"  
  
Spike sighed and did his best to look bored as he dug out his smokes. "Wondered when you'd pick up on that." He popped a fag in his mouth but before he could light it Willow plucked it out.  
  
"Not in my store. It smells icky."  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "And the pickled rat tongue and dried frog innards smell like a field of daisies?"  
  
"Those are magic smells," she said defensively. "Anyway, how the hell did you get a soul? I thought I was the only one who could do that spell."  
  
Shit. He was brilliant at lies of omission, which was all that had been needed so far. But this called for a bald-faced fabrication, and he was perfectly aware of how much he sucked at those. Aw, fuck it. "Giles."   
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"No." He shook his head. "He, um ... he thought I might switch sides if I became all soul-having." He nodded. That sounded convincing, didn't it? He tried not to look too proud of himself.  
Willow tilted her head and studied him. Perhaps it was a bit early to pat himself on the back. "Did you?"  
  
"Did I ... Please. I've got the sweetest set-up of my entire bloody unlife here. You think a soul's all it takes to get me to give that up? The conscience didn't do much for me the first time 'round, Sweetheart, why should it be any different now?"  
  
Willow studied him a bit longer, then smiled her knowing, Mona Lisa smile. "Still ... I bet it's a nuisance." She slithered back up against him and ran her hands over his chest. "It's not like we don't know how to get rid of it." As she sucked his earlobe into her mouth he tried to focus on Buffy and Tara hiding in the bathroom. "I could give you a happy right now, or ... ooh!" She pulled back and grinned at him. "We could go back to the house, let Harmony in on the action. We could play while you watch, then you can play with both of us until that nasty soul's just a bad memory."  
  
Spike found it difficult to speak. "Y'know, Pet, the word picture alone's almost enough to do the trick." He shook his head. "But we'll have to worry about that later. There's work to do now."  
  
"Oh, come on, Spike." She swirled her tongue in the hollow of his throat as her hand wandered down to his crotch. "There's always time for a little fun. And it's for a good ca--"  
  
He grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her back, forcing her to look at him. "I _said_ get to work!" He shoved her away. "I won't be anywhere near perfectly happy until Buffy's back where she bloody well belongs. Go. Find. Her."  
  
Willow frowned at him and rubbed the back of her head. "Maybe a locator spell ..."  
  
"Whatever. Just go get everybody ready. I'll meet you at the house."  
  
"Fine. _Master_. What are you gonna do?"  
  
"I, uh ... I'm gonna clean myself up. Then I'm gonna go out back and have a smoke. Had a bit of a rough day, I think I deserve one. Don't you?"  
  
Willow shrugged. "Whatever." She turned and went back into the basement. Spike listened as her footsteps sounded on the stairs, then he went to press his ear to the door. When he thought he heard the trapdoor slam shut, he opened the door and stuck his head in. "Oi, Will! One more thing!"  
  
No answer. She was gone, then. He went to the bathroom and knocked. "You can come out now."   
  
The door opened, and Tara emerged.   
  
"She's gonna do a locator spell," Spike told her. "Know any counter spells, keep her from finding us?"   
  
Tara nodded. "I'll need some ingredients."  
  
He motioned around at the shop. "Shouldn't be a problem."   
  
Realizing Buffy hadn't come out of the bathroom yet, he looked inside. Buffy stood at the mirror, clearly horrified by what she saw. Her fingers roved over her closely cropped hair, lingering now and then on the surgical scars. They moved down to her face, tracing the sunken eyes, the gaunt cheeks, as though trying to verify that the haunted girl in the mirror was really her. Or maybe that it _wasn't_. Her eyes began to shine, and her lip trembled. Spike wanted to pull her out of there, to take her by the shoulders and tell her how beautiful she was, but the words would ring hollow to her ears coming from him. Instead he stepped inside and stood next to her.   
  
It startled him a bit, his lack of reflection. Not that he'd expected it to be there; but ever since he'd gotten his soul, it made him angry whenever a mirror refused to acknowledge his existence. These simple sheets of glass, nothing magical about them or the coating on the back, reminding him of his inhumanity, of how little he mattered to the universe.  
  
He reached out and tapped Buffy's reflection. "That's not you," he said gently. "This is temporary. It'll get better." She turned away from the mirror and looked up at him. He met her eyes. "_You'll_ get better."   
  
She glanced back at the mirror, then pushed past him into the shop.   
  
"So, we should probably hurry," said Tara, "in case she comes back."  
  
Spike tore his gaze away from Buffy and nodded. "We need candles, right?" He picked up a box of tapers from a nearby shelf.  
  
"Yeah, and a toad stone ... um, do you mind if I ask what this spell is for?"  
  
"Summoning spell. Need to summon a vengeance demon."  
  
Tara was reaching for a jar, but her hand froze in midair. "You're going to curse someone?"  
  
Spike let out a laugh. "_I'm_ the one who's cursed, and the rest of you by proxy. Gonna make the bint undo it, if I can ever find her." Tara looked even more confused. Spike took a deep breath, then launched into his explanation. "Her name's Halfrek. She's a friend of Anya's," he added for Buffy's benefit, but she appeared to be ignoring them as she stared out the window. "Anyway, she, um, she tricked me into making a wish. Changed history, and not for the better. Created a whole other world." He waved his hand to indicate their surroundings. "I just want to put everything right again."  
  
Tara's brow wrinkled up. "Another world ..."  
  
"Yeh. I know it's hard to believe, but I'm not the same Spike you know. And I'm not gonna hurt you." He raised his voice to add, "_Either_ of you."  
  
Tara seemed to accept this, and she nodded. "In your world ... we knew each other? I mean, I ..." Her eyes widened. "Was I a vampire?"  
"No! No, you did the hero bit along with the rest of the Scoobies."  
  
"S-scoobies ...?"  
  
"Nevermind. Point is, you were the only one of Buffy's friends that I could tolerate half the time. The only one didn't ever look down your nose at me."  
  
"That's why you rescued me."  
  
"Got it in one." He moved toward the back of the store, browsing the shelves.  
  
"So ... is it true, what she said?"  
  
Spike looked at her, eyebrow raised.  
  
"Do you really have a soul?"  
  
From the front of the shop, Buffy laughed.   
  
Spike turned toward her, but she still had her back to them, gazing out the window. Her shoulders shook with silent laughter. Or possibly sobs. He fought the urge to go to her and turned back to Tara. "Yeh. That part's true." More audible laughter from Buffy. She sounded a bit hysterical. "Look, we got everything? We should get going." The bell over the door jangled, and Spike whirled around; but nobody entered, and Buffy was gone. "Balls," he muttered as he flew to the door.  
  
The doorway was shaded enough for him to step outside, but he couldn't get to where she stood in the middle of the street. "Buffy ..."  
  
"It all looks the same."  
  
Spike followed her gaze, which swept downtown Sunnydale. To his surprise, she was right. There were fewer people milling about, and some of the shops had been boarded up. The curfew signs were new. But there were still cars parked in the street, still people having coffee at the Espresso Pump. He wondered if it was brave of these people to hold out, refuse to go into hiding, change their way of life ... or if they were just stupid. Or maybe they'd all struck some kind of deal, figured out a way to coexist. Like Mary.  
  
He shook his head. "Looks can be deceiving, Pet."  
  
"I could run," she said quietly, as though thinking out loud. She looked at Tara, who stood next to Spike in the doorway. "We both could."  
  
"Um, I don't think ..." Tara looked from Spike to Buffy. "I mean, where would we go?"  
  
Buffy glanced at Spike, then lowered her head and hugged herself. God, she'd never looked so lost before. Not even that first night, after she'd come back ...  
  
"You could run," he told her. "Both of you, I can't stop you. I won't try. But then you won't see Giles."  
  
Buffy's head snapped up, and her eyes flashed with anger. "You have Giles?"  
  
"No," Spike sighed, "I don't _have_ Giles. I know where he is, and he's waiting for me to bring you to him. I can take you, if you let me. We'll go there right now."   
  
"Giles would never trust you like that."  
  
At this, Spike laughed. "Bloody right! Giles _doesn't_ trust me. He's got at least a dozen backup plans worked out for if I screw him over. And if I show up there without you ... he's already figured out exactly how he'll torture me before he dusts me."   
  
She stared at him, still skeptical.   
  
He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the doorjamb. Jesus, he was tired. "It's up to you. I'm going to meet Rupert, with or without you." He opened his eyes and turned slightly to look at her. "I just want to make things right, Buffy. It'll be better for all of us if you help me." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and went back inside.   
  
A few paces in he stopped and lit a cigarette. He had a third of it smoked before he heard the door shut behind him. He turned to see Buffy standing there, arms crossed defiantly. She walked up to him.  
  
"I don't believe you," she said.  
  
His eyebrows knit in confusion. "What don't--"  
  
"All that stuff you said before. The wish, the other reality, the _soul_ ..." She shook her head. "I don't believe it. I don't know why you decided to get me out of there, but it changes nothing. If you so much as _touch_ me, chip or no chip, I'll kill you."  
  
Spike sighed, breathing smoke out his nose, and nodded. "Understood."  
  
Her chin tilted up just a fraction of an inch, but it made her look almost regal. "When we get there, if you are not on your absolute best behavior, I'll tell Giles about your visits. And then I'll watch _him_ kill you." With that, she turned and went to the basement.  
  
Spike watched her until she disappeared through the door. He took one last drag and looked up at the ceiling as he blew it out, then tossed the butt on the floor. He didn't bother to step on it. Let the place burn. Maybe, if he was lucky, that bitch that called herself Willow would be in it when it did.   
  
Taking the bag of supplies from Tara, he motioned for her to follow. Then he set off to meet his fate in the place where this nightmare had started.  
  
***  
  
END, PART SEVEN 

Next: _Be All My Sins Remembered_


	8. Be All My Sins Remembered

Perfect World  
Part Eight: Be All My Sins Remembered 

by cousinjean   


_A/N & acknowledgements: This was a tough chapter to write, folks, so I'm sure it'll be a tough chapter to read. You might want to have a nice, happy, fluffy fic lined up to read after you're done with this one.  
  
Special thanks to DevilPiglet/Serpentine for diving into the beta pool. I needed all the encouragement I could get on this one. I hope she feels she got her money's worth. ;-) Big thanks also to fenwic and adjrun for taking time out to beta despite a week of conning, relative visiting, vacationing and just generally dragging their respective tails all over the west coast. And to Abby for carving out time in the midst of moving. It seems everybody had stuff going on, and I really appreciate that they stuck with me.  
  
Thanks also to adj the Shakespeare nut for the title on this one. If you're wondering, it's from _Hamlet_. Don't ask me which scene.  
  
Only two more chapters to go. I can't promise how quick they'll be in coming, but they _will_ get posted before the season premiere airs._  
  
  


***

  
  
"Here we are."  
  
Buffy and Tara surveyed the empty cavern. "And 'here' is where?" asked Buffy.  
  
Spike imagined the other Buffy asking that: a toss of her hair, hands on her hips, eyebrow raised. Impatience and just a hint of the old disdain underlying the sarcasm in her voice -- the combination of which would be supremely irritating if not for the spark of anticipation in her eyes. Baiting him in a verbal sparring match that would lead to ... fighting? Sex? One of them stomping off in anger? All of the above? Hell if he ever knew where they'd end up. That was half the fun.  
  
But this Buffy's eyes held only tired wariness and well-earned loathing that -- far from spurring him to think of the snarkiest answer possible -- made him hate himself as much as she did. If that were even possible. Her voice held no attitude. She issued no challenge; it was simply a question.  
  
"Home, sweet home," he told her, keeping his tone light. "Or it was, at any rate."  
  
"Oh, right. In _your_ reality."   
  
So. She remembered sarcasm after all. He nodded. "Matter of fact." He set down the bag of supplies and pointed at the hole leading up to the crypt. "Need to get up there. I'll go first, make sure it's safe. Then I can pull you both up."  
  
"I can do it myself," said Buffy.  
  
He eyed her frail-looking frame skeptically, but thought it best not to argue. "'Course you can. Just let me check it out first, all right?"  
  
Crossing her arms, she looked away and shrugged.  
  
"Stay close to Tara. Anything happens while I'm up there, she can protect you." Buffy let out a bitter laugh. Spike ignored it and looked at Tara. "Best start on that counter spell. Willow might already be working her mojo."   
  
Tara nodded and went to rummage through the bag.  
  
With that, Spike jumped up, grabbed the side of the opening, and pulled himself into the crypt. Halfway up, two pairs of hands pulled him the rest of the way. They dragged him backwards and slammed him into the wall, pinning him there.  
  
"Hey! What th--" Spike's head snapped back and he tasted his own blood. He glared at Giles, Lauren and Gunn, unsure which of them had thrown the punch.  
  
"You turned off your communicator," said Gunn.  
  
"I did n--"  
  
Gunn hit him. "Don't lie to us! You were talking to Adam, and you turned it off. You led them to us, right? How long till they get here?"  
  
"That's not what --"  
  
Gunn hit him again. "How long?!"  
  
That did it. Spike felt his features change as he threw all three of them off. "Now listen here," he snarled, slipping into combat stance. "I don't have a chip in this world, right? Next one of you _touches _me, I'm gonna take full advantage of that fact."  
  
"Go ahead." Lauren aimed a kick at his head. He ducked, but she switched feet and spun around for another one. Spike grabbed her leg and used her momentum to swing her into a wall. It stunned her enough for him to close in. He hauled her up and pinned her there, a hand at her throat.  
  
"Didn't Giles ever tell you what happened to most of the Slayers I've fought?" Fear flashed across her face. _Guess he did._  
  
"That's enough," said Giles, and Spike felt something pointy poking him in the back. He let go of Lauren and turned around. Giles and Gunn stood side by side, both aiming crossbows at his heart. "Spike, you were warned that if you lost contact, we would assume the worst."  
  
Spike dug the melted device out of his pocket and held it up. "There's your bloody communicator!" He threw it at Giles and it bounced off his chest. "You might tell Warren for future reference that they don't stand up to getting fucking _tasered_."  
  
Lauren crossed her arms and moved to stand next to Giles. "Where's my sword?"  
  
Spike yanked up his shirt to expose his wound. "Right about there, last time I saw it. Sorry, didn't think to wrestle it out of Adam's grip before I left. Bit busy _running for my life_!"  
  
Giles's face fell. "You didn't get her, then."  
  
Spike sighed, and melted back into human face. As tired as he was of having the shit beat out of him, he had to sympathize with the bloke. He looked past Giles to the opening in the floor where Buffy, obviously incapable of obeying a simple request in any universe, was trying to pull herself into the crypt. Spike jerked his chin toward her. "I got her."  
  
Giles followed his gaze. When he saw her, his arm went limp, and the weapon slipped from his grasp. "Oh, dear Lord."  
  
Spike shoved Gunn out of his way and went to help her up. For once, she let him. "Told you he didn't trust me," he said as he set her on her feet. But she wasn't paying attention to him. Her eyes locked on Giles. An expression of disbelief warred on her face with reluctant hope.   
  
Giles's features fought the same battle, but guilt, sorrow and joy had joined the fray. He took a tentative step forward. "Buffy ..."  
  
She didn't move. She didn't seem to know what to do.   
  
He took another step. "I-if I had known ... I saw Adam break your neck."  
  
Her gaze faltered as she raised a hand to massage her neck. "He fixed it."  
  
Giles put a trembling hand over his mouth. Then he lowered it and shook his head. "I didn't ... but I should have. I _should_ have known. Oh, my dear ..." He went to her, reaching out a hand to stroke her hair. "My dear girl. I am so, _so_ sorry."  
  
Buffy's lip trembled as she nodded, swiping the back of her hand across her eyes. Then the dam burst. She flung herself into Giles's open arms, and all of the horrors visited upon her flooded out in a tidal wave of tears. They both sunk to the ground, Giles rocking her as she cried. "Forgive me, Buffy," he murmured. "Please forgive me. I swear I didn't know. Oh, my darling ..." His voice broke. He took off his glasses and hid his face against her hair.  
  
Spike turned away to give them some privacy and saw Tara peering up at him from the cave below. Bugger, he'd forgotten about her. "Hang on," he told her, glancing up at Gunn and Lauren. They both stood about gaping at Buffy and Giles. No sense of decorum, either of them. "A little help over here?"   
  
As they came over, Spike dropped into the cavern beside Tara. "Should've said something, Pet."  
  
She shrugged and gave him an uncertain smile. "It sounded kind of intense up there. I didn't want to interrupt."  
  
Spike returned her smile. "Here's a tip. If you don't interrupt this crowd just 'cause they sound intense, you'll never get a bleeding word in."  
  
"Thanks. I'll remember that."  
  
Spike nodded. "Up you go, then." He put his hands around her waist and lifted her up to Gunn. Once she was inside the crypt, Spike pitched the supplies to Lauren, then pulled himself back up. He straightened, dusted himself off, and pointed at each of them in turn. "Tara. Gunn. Lauren," he said by way of introduction. He glanced over at the pair still huddled on the floor. "That's Giles over there with Buffy."  
  
Tara eyed the two of them for a moment, then looked away. Always polite, this one. "Is, um, is he her dad?"  
  
"Something like that."  
  
The four of them stood around for a moment, not sure what to do next. When the awkwardness became too much to bear, Gunn took the supplies from Lauren. "Let's see what's what," he said, carrying them over to one of the tombs.  
  
"You got the summoning spell?"  
  
"G has it. Part of it, anyway." Gunn turned to Tara as he spread out the supplies. "I think he's hoping you can help fill in the gaps. You do magic, right?"  
  
Tara nodded. "It ... it's been a while ..."  
  
Gunn grinned. "I guess there wasn't a whole lot of call for conjuring or whatever on the inside, huh?"  
  
Tara brushed her hair out of her eyes and shook her head.  
  
"If you're such a powerful witch," asked Lauren, eyeing her up and down, "how come you couldn't just magic yourself out of there?"  
  
"Oi! Back off, will you?" Spike stepped in front of Tara.  
  
"It's a valid question," said Gunn.  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ, you people give whole new meaning to the word 'paranoid.'"  
  
Gunn drew himself up to his full height and loomed over Spike. "We didn't get this far by trusting in the wrong people, _vampire_."  
  
"It's okay," Tara said, putting a hand on Spike's arm. "They can ask me questions, I don't m-mind."  
  
Lauren raised her eyebrows. "So?"  
  
"We couldn't. Do magic, I mean. I mean, we _could_, he didn't put chips in our heads or anything. He ..." She paused to lick her lips. "Adam, he brought in another witch ... a vampire. She put a w... a ward on each of our cells, to prevent us from doing magic."  
  
"Willow, I'd wager." Spike nodded. "Makes sense. What fun would it be to take away your powers? You'd be useless then, he might as well just kill you."  
  
Tara nodded. "Anyway, I'm not really that powerful."  
  
Gunn and Lauren seemed satisfied. They started going through the supplies, asking Tara more questions, keeping busy while they waited. Spike stole away for a cigarette. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Buffy and Giles pull apart at last. Spike settled on the ledge underneath the window, leaned back against the side of the alcove, and closed his eyes. He tried not to eavesdrop, but the crypt wasn't _that_ big, and sound carried. He didn't need vampire senses to hear what they were saying. Finally, he gave up trying to be polite, and watched them through half-lidded eyes.  
  
Buffy ran a hand over the snotty mess she'd made of Giles's shirt. "Sorry."  
  
"Don't be," he said, taking her hand in his.  
  
With her free hand, she wiped her eyes. "God, I must look totally disgusting right now."  
  
"Nonsense." He stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. "You've never looked more lovely."  
  
Buffy smiled a little, the first true smile Spike had seen from her. "Liar."  
  
"Not at all. But you know what they say about beauty," Giles said, wiping his own eyes and putting his glasses back on. "Eye of the beholder and all that. And you truly look beautiful to this beholder."  
  
Buffy's smile widened and she ducked her head. Then she looked over at Gunn, Lauren and Tara. "So this is your big Resistance movement?"  
  
"Part of it, yes. There are more, of course. The others are resettling our camp."  
  
"My mom, she's with them?" Giles's face fell, and the hope on Buffy's face went down a notch. "I mean, she got out, right? Before everything --"  
  
"She did," Giles assured her. "Your mother accompanied me to Los Angeles, after you ... I mean, after ... Anyway. I kept her quite safe."  
  
Buffy nodded. "You're going to say 'but.'"  
  
Giles sighed. "But ... she became ill. She had a, ah ... a tumor." Buffy tensed at the word. "By then, Adam's forces had already moved in on L.A. We were unable to get her the proper treatment." Buffy retreated back into herself, drawing her knees up to her chin and hugging them to her. Giles laid a hand on her back. "She went peacefully, Buffy. Please let that be some consolation." She buried her face against her knees and began to rock a little. Giles looked frightened. "Buffy, I ... I wish that ..." He looked around and saw Spike, who had given up all pretense not watching them. "Perhaps when everything is restored ..."  
  
Spike shook his head.  
  
Giles's shoulders fell. "I see."  
  
Mirthless laughter came from Buffy. She raised her head. "What, in Spike's world? Giles, you don't actually believe him."  
  
Giles looked at Spike as he considered. "So far he's given me no reason not to."  
  
Buffy stood up. "No reason? Giles, he's _Spike_. That's all the reason you need."  
  
Spike stood up as well. If she decided to tell Giles everything, he should be ready to defend himself.  
  
Giles remained seated on the floor, looking back and forth between them. "Normally, I would agree," he said, his eyes finally resting on Buffy. "But _this_ Spike has a soul. That much has been verified."  
  
"Oh, a soul. Of course. That makes _all_ the difference." Buffy shot a glare at Spike. "I guess those human scientists that Adam brought in to help him cut me up and ..." She swallowed. "And other stuff ... they must've checked their souls at the door."  
  
"She's got a point," said Lauren.  
  
Buffy looked at her, her face a question mark.  
  
Giles got to his feet. "Buffy, this is Lauren. She's the, er ..."  
  
"I'm the Slayer," Lauren supplied.  
  
Buffy took it like another blow. "Then Nelke ..."  
  
Giles removed his glasses and ran a hand over his face. "The same battle in which you ..." He sighed. "She got me to the exit, but before she could follow, Willow got in a parting shot."  
  
Buffy shook her head and folded her arms. "First Faith, then Nelke." She looked at Spike. "Guess you two are tied."  
  
Spike threw his spent cigarette on the ground and shoved his hands in his pockets as he met her gaze. "Guess so."  
  
She moved to stand before him. "So is that what this is all about? Breaking the tie?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"No?" She indicated Lauren. "You've got two Slayers right here, Spike. Her defenses are down, and I can't fight you. You worm your way into their trust, wait until we're all vulnerable, then, hey! You're back on top!" Her voice rose, and so did her fists, but she didn't try to hit him. "Is that it? Did you finally come up with a plan you could stick to?"  
  
"No, that is bloody _not_ it!" Spike grabbed her by the shoulders. She gasped, but he didn't let go. The others went for their weapons.  
  
Tara ran over to them. "Stop it!" Spike let go of Buffy and backed away. Tara stood between him and the others, a human shield. "If he wanted to kill you, he had plenty of chances." Funny how her stutter disappeared whenever she got angry.  
  
Buffy shook her head. "But h--"  
  
"No! What he went through for us ... You were unconscious. You didn't see. But he almost _died_ for us, Buffy. Adam almost had him, and all he wanted was to keep us safe. God, if you had seen the way he protected you ..."  
  
Spike put a hand on Tara's shoulder. She looked back at him, and he shook his head. That information probably wouldn't help things with Buffy at this point.  
  
"You don't know him like I do," said Buffy.  
  
Tara turned back to her. "If he's telling the truth, if this is a different Spike ... then you don't know him at all."  
  
"_If_ he's telling the truth," said Gunn. He lowered his crossbow and looked at Spike. "Look, man, you came through today, but ..." He shook his head.  
  
Giles chewed on the ear of his glasses. "It _is_ rather a lot to take on faith," he conceded.  
  
"And I can't," said Buffy. Hugging herself, she sat down underneath the window. "I can't take anything he says on faith."  
  
Back to bloody square one then, was it? Brilliant. "Fine!" Spike threw up his hands. He couldn't do this again. "Don't believe me. You know what? I don't need your help. I'm immortal, yeh? Well, so's Halfrek. That means I've got all the ruddy time in the world to fix this. I'll figure it out on my own. So have fun with your little rebellion. I'll just be on my merry way." He turned on his heel and started for the door, but they'd taken his advice and propped a sarcophagus lid against it. Undaunted, he shoved it out of his way.  
  
"So that's it?" asked Gunn. "You're just gonna turn your back on us?"  
  
Spike whirled around. "Don't you get it? _This _--" he gestured around at the crypt -- "it's not real. None of it matters. Once I fix things, none of this will have ever _happened_."  
  
"That may be," said Giles, "but it's quite real for the rest of us. And it was real enough for you when Buffy was Adam's prisoner."  
  
Spike gritted his teeth and raised his eyes to the ceiling. Then he pointed at Buffy. "She doesn't want my help!" He dropped his hand. "And I won't make her help me. God, if I ..." He ran a hand through his hair and paced, then stopped before Buffy and dropped to his knees. "If there was a way, Pet ... if I could prove it to you ..." He shook his head, and gazed helplessly up at her. Her face remained expressionless. "What must I do, Buffy? What will it take to get you to trust me, even just a smidgen? Name it, and I'll do it. Anything you want."  
  
For a long while they just looked at each other, Buffy impassive, Spike imploring. Finally, she closed her eyes and turned her head away. Spike dropped his head to his hands.  
  
"Um ..." Tara's voice broke the silence. "I know this spell ..."  
  
Spike raised his head, and everyone turned to look at her.  
  
Giles put his glasses back on. "We already considered a truth spell. We decided it wouldn't be reliable enough."  
  
"I-it's not a truth spell," said Tara. "It's more like an, an empathy spell? This old wizard taught me, before they separated us and put the wards around our cells. It ... it bonds two people, connects them so that they share each other's memories. Each relives them through the other's eyes. It's ... pretty intense."  
  
"And if Spike is telling the truth," said Giles, "then the person bonded to him should experience his world firsthand." Tara nodded. Giles looked at Spike. "I'm game if you are."  
  
Spike looked at Buffy, but she still refused to meet his eyes. He nodded, and got to his feet. "Right. What do we need to do?"  
  
"I'll need to draw a circle," said Tara, going back to the supplies.  
  
"No." Buffy stood up.  
  
Giles and Spike looked at each other, then at her. "Buffy," said Giles, "this could be just the proof we require."  
  
"I know. I'll do it."  
  
Giles shook his head. "You're in no condition --"  
  
"I have to see for myself, Giles. Besides, you're talking about bonding with _Spike_."  
  
"All the more reason why it shouldn't be you."  
  
Buffy shrugged. "Why not? I've already seen the worst he can do. Hell, I've lived it."  
  
Giles turned a cold, lethal stare on Spike.  
  
Spike just nodded. "'Sides, it goes both ways, right Pet?" He smiled ruefully. "Can't think of a more fitting punishment."  
  
Buffy looked at him. "You'll go through with it, then?"  
  
"I will. You sure you're up for it, though? Might see some things that are pretty tough to take."  
  
She snorted. "Believe me, Spike. Nothing you've done will surprise me."  
  
He tilted his head and held her gaze for a moment. "We'll see, Love."  
  
The endearment made Buffy bristle, but she took no action.   
  
Tara motioned them to the front of the crypt. With a piece of charcoal, she drew a wide circle. "This is just to help anchor you," she explained. Then she placed a pillar candle in the center and lit it. "You both need to sit and face the candle." Buffy and Spike took their places inside the circle. "Y-you have to hold hands."  
  
Spike held out his hands and waited. He felt revulsion flowing off of Buffy as she recoiled. At last, she swallowed and placed her hands in his.  
  
"Close your eyes," Tara instructed. "Think of a point in time. Don't go back too far, it can be overwhelming if you try to do too much at once. Just think back a year or so."  
  
Spike tried to think of a good time for them both. He thought over that first year, after he realized he was in love with her. Hadn't exactly been a good year for either of them. He was still trying to pinpoint a memory when Tara began to chant.  
  
And then his memories were no longer his own.  
  
It began with flashes. Like a camera bulb, searing images onto the backs of his eyelids. But the images came with feelings, scents, sounds ... as if he was there. He _was_ there. What's more, he was _her_. He saw through her eyes, felt her emotions. Anger, determination, shock, fear, grief, hatred ... all hitting him in rapid succession along with images of Riley, Angel, Adam. Himself. Then the memories slowed, played out longer. He began to put them in context.  
  
He was in a locked room he didn't recognize, but he wasn't alone. Angel was there, crouched in a corner, half mad from starvation. Cordelia spoke to him in soothing tones, trying to talk him down. Adam watched from behind glass to see which of them Angel would turn on first. Buffy prayed for it to be her.  
  
Flash forward to Cordelia, lying on the floor, her body wracked with spasms as her eyes rolled back in her head. Buffy tried to go to her, to help her, but they dragged her away. When she tried to fight them the chip fired, almost causing her seizures of her own.   
  
Flash forward to her cell. Riley entered -- no. Not Riley. Not any more. She had to remember that. "Thought you'd like to see your old lover again," he told her, throwing a handful of dust in her face. "Get up. You have visitors."   
  
But she couldn't. She could only stare at the dust coating her clothes, too numb to grieve like she wanted, like she knew she should.   
  
"I said get up!" Riley grabbed her by the hair and hauled her to her feet. She refused to cry out. Riley stepped aside, and Adam entered.   
  
"Your bonus," he said, ushering someone inside.   
  
Buffy felt mild surprise and disgust as Spike appeared from behind Adam. Spike stared at her, his eyes wide with wonder. "She's really alive," he breathed. He took a step toward her, and she stepped back, afraid. He broke into a slow grin. "This is gonna be fun."  
  
Spike stared helplessly at himself and shuddered.  
  
***  
  
It took Buffy a moment to understand what was happening. She watched in wonder as images of her friends passed before her: Xander, Willow, Riley, all of them alive and well. But other feelings accompanied the flashes. Irritation, frustration, jealousy, warmth, rejection, fondness, anger, all forming a confused jumble of emotion.   
  
Now she hung from chains in a strange apartment. A woman, small yet unbelievably powerful, taunted and tortured her. Through the pain, she clung to a single thought: _If you tell, it will destroy Buffy. Hold on for Buffy's sake. _  
  
Flash forward to a metal plank high above Sunnydale. A young girl stood at the end, bound at the wrists. Dawn. Buffy didn't know how, but she knew the girl. Loved her. "Spike!" the girl called out, her voice full of relief and hope instead of fear. Suddenly Buffy understood. She was Spike, and Spike had to protect Dawn. An old man stood in his way. Spike tried to take him on, but the old man was too fast. It was over as quickly as it had begun. He'd failed. Oh God, he'd failed her. He'd failed them both. He didn't know how long he lay there. Gradually he became aware of pain shooting through his body, but it was nothing compared to the knowledge of what his failure would cost him. The sun was coming. As much as he wanted to let it take him, instinct forced him up. The others were there, gathering around. He limped toward them, to see what they were looking at, and he saw. The culmination of his failure. His love, his life ... broken and bleeding atop a pile of rubble. He tried to sense a heartbeat, but there was none. She was gone. Grief hit him like a physical blow, and he buried his face in his hands.  
  
Flash forward to Buffy's house. Spike parked a motorcycle in front and flew up the front walk, fear gripping his heart like a vise. He'd failed again. He'd made a simple promise -- his only reason for going on. Now he'd fucked it up, and lost her. "Dawn!" he called as he went through the door. He nearly collapsed with relief when she appeared atop the stairs, but then anger bolstered him. God, he was furious. If not for the chip he'd pound some sense into the girl. Have to settle for shouting at her instead.  
  
"Spike, look," she cut him off, trying to distract him.  
  
"I've seen the bloody 'bot before. Didn't think she'd patch up so --" _Oh. Oh, God_.  
  
It couldn't be ... but it was. Her scent, the rhythm of her heart beating strong inside her chest, a sound he thought he'd only hear again in his dreams ... but how? He couldn't take his eyes off her. Who gave a bleeding fuck _how?_ She was back, and she needed him. He would protect her this time, take care of her like he'd taken care of her sister. Christ, she was so beautiful, so _alive_ ....   
  
Buffy stared up at herself and smiled.  
  
***  
  
They lasted longer now, grew more detailed, more vivid. Spike lost his sense of self. There was only Buffy -- her thoughts, her feelings. Her revulsion and despair.   
  
She sat on the cot in the middle of her cell while he prowled around her, stopping now and then to run a hand through her hair. Every time he touched her, she suppressed a shudder. She only half-listened to him rant about why Drusilla had left him as she envisioned the many ways she could shut him up if it weren't for the chip.  
  
"But she was right, you know." He sat beside her. Buffy refused to react. "I didn't figure that out until I learned you were still alive. Ever since that first time Adam showed you to me ... I haven't been able to think about anything else." He twirled her hair around his finger. "Any_one_ else."  
  
She swatted his hand away. A warning twinge fired in her brain, giving her the beginnings of a headache. She glared at him. "So Drusilla dumped you because she thought you loved me. That's why you sold me out to Adam? Used my boyfriend as bait? Because you _love_ me so much?"  
  
"Now, now, Slayer. First of all, that was business. Nothing personal."  
  
"Right. I'll remember that the next time my dead boyfriend straps me down and tortures me."  
  
"Second of all," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "don't flatter yourself. Love you? Please." He got up to pace some more. "Do I think you're a hot little number? Sure I do. I may be dead, but I have eyes. And I'm no poofter." He moved behind her, bent to press his lips against her ear as he spoke. "Do I dream about shagging you so rough and raw that you're still screaming my name after I've left the room?" He straightened and leaned against her. She could feel the beginning of an erection pressing into her back and almost choked on her disgust. "Oh, yeh. Not a night goes by that I don't." He paced back around in front of her. "Do I admire you?" He shrugged. "God knows you're a worthy opponent. Or at least, you were. But love?" He laughed. "How could I ever love you, you stupid bint?"  
  
"Well, seeing as how that would mean you understand what love _is_, I'd say that you couldn't."  
  
He smirked at her for a moment. Then he slapped her. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he hauled her to her feet. "Who the bloody hell are you to lecture _me_ about love? A hundred and twenty _years_ I was faithful to Dru! You're gonna stand there and tell me I don't know what love is?"   
  
Buffy shoved him, and the chip went off. The pain nauseated her. Or maybe that was Spike. He was on her again, shaking her. "I'm obsessed with you, is what she said. Ever since our truce ..." He stopped the shaking and held her steady. His gaze drifted down to her mouth. "She's right. It's like you follow me around, haunting me ..." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I've got to get you out of my system."  
  
"No."  
  
"Shh." He stroked her hair. "I won't hurt you, Slayer. It'll be good, yeh? Just this once, and we can forget it."  
  
"Spike, get off me!"  
  
But he wasn't listening. He closed in to kiss her. Buffy balled up her fist, braced for the pain, and hit him, knocking him across the room. The pain blinded her. She clutched her head and dropped to her knees, but a pair of hands caught her before she fell, and slammed her into the wall.  
  
***  
  
She slammed him into the wall, and in that instant, he got it. The games she played, the denial ... "You're afraid I'm gonna --" But her mouth closed over his. She wouldn't give him a chance to speak it. Didn't matter now, though. She was kissing him, more passionately than any of the other times. He couldn't even remember what he'd been about to say. Kissing Buffy. That was all that mattered. That was all there was.  
  
He turned her around so he could deepen the kiss, but she shoved him away. Then she was on him again, shoving him backwards into another wall. He barely registered the beam that fell where they'd been standing only a second before as she kissed him again. He almost didn't notice when her legs wrapped around his waist. And then the most extraordinary thing happened: she pulled him out, and slid herself onto him.  
  
He stopped kissing her then. He had to see her. It ... it had to be a mistake. But she held his gaze, her eyes filled with desire and determination. He could only stare back at her with undisguised awe and, he guessed, not a little bit of gratitude. And then she began to move. Oh, God. The times he'd dreamed of this, tried to imagine how it would feel to be inside her ... none of it had prepared him for the reality of it. That, coupled with the look in her eyes ... it overwhelmed him. He had to close his eyes. And then she was kissing him again. Oh, bloody... Christ, this was amazing. Were they making love? Would she ever allow him to call it that?  
  
He turned, leaned her against the wall for better purchase. Bloody hell, it was happening too fast. But it was happening for her, too. He thought he heard crashing somewhere in the distance, but he couldn't be sure. He heard her cry out, and he let go. His knees gave out. He stumbled backwards, taking her with him. They fell ... he thought they'd never stop falling. But then they did, and he was still inside her. She was looking into his eyes again. He ... God, he loved her so much. He had to say so, had to tell her. He opened his mouth. "I love y--" But she kissed him again. She wouldn't let him say it. Fine, then. He would show her. With his body, he would worship her. By morning, she would know. She wouldn't be able to deny it any longer.  
  
***  
  
He backhanded her. She fell to the floor, and scooted back against the wall as she held her burning cheek.  
  
"Oh, bloody hell. Get up, Slayer." When she didn't move, he picked her up and shoved her back into the center of the room. "You don't want to go to ruin, do you? Fight me!"  
  
She gritted her teeth. She would not cry. "I can't."  
  
He rolled his eyes, and threw a punch. She dodged it. He grinned. "There you go, Love!" He swung at her again.  
  
Buffy blocked his punch. "I _told_ you, don't call me Love!" She swung, and connected. She screamed as the chip fired, but as she picked herself up off the floor, she thought it had been worth it. At least, until his boot connected with the side of her head.  
  
"Get up," he said. She didn't move. "I said, get _up_!" He grabbed her hair and pulled her to her knees. She pushed him away and forced herself to her feet. She heard him laugh. "That's my girl."  
  
***  
  
"That's my girl." He urged her on, ignoring the pain. Whatever she inflicted on him, it was nothing compared to the way she was beating herself up. He could take it. He wasn't so sure that she could.  
  
"I am not your girl!" She hit him again, knocked him on his ass. That did the trick. She jumped on him and started pounding his face. Hurt like hell. Jesus, she was strong. She was beginning to tire, though. He could've stopped her, but she had to keep going. Let her take it all out on him. Better than going into that police station and throwing her whole life away over something she had no power to stop. Beating him to a bloody pulp, that he could take. But he couldn't take losing her. Not again. Not like this.  
  
She shouted at him as she hit him. "You don't ... have a soul! There is nothing good or clean in you. You are dead inside! You can't feel anything real! I could never ... be your girl!"  
  
That last one hurt. More than his face -- that was completely numb by now. Must be bad, by the look on her face. It was all right, though. Say something to let her know it's all right. Bloody hell, his lips were swollen. Make them work anyway, before you lose her.   
  
"You always hurt the one you love, Pet."  
  
That only made it worse. She got off of him and stood up.   
  
"Buffy?"  
  
She paid him no need. Just walked past him, toward the station. He reached for her, but he couldn't move. She'd done a hell of a number on him. All for nothing. She went inside. He'd failed again. He just wanted to keep her safe. Why did he always fuck it up?  
  
***  
  
She couldn't fuck it up. She'd only get one chance. If they caught her, or found her too soon, they'd fix her. They'd make sure she could never do it again. And it would never end.  
  
She stared at her wrist, at the blue vein. God, what she wouldn't give for a knife or a razor. Anything sharp. This was going to hurt. But there were worse ways to hurt, she knew that. This one last little bit of pain, and she'd never have to feel those other ways again.  
  
Steeling herself, she closed her eyes, and bit down hard on her wrist. She whimpered as she clamped her jaw tight, and gagged when blood flowed into her mouth. She spat it onto the floor, then sat back and watched it run out of her wrist. She'd expected it to spurt more. Maybe she didn't do it right.  
  
The door opened. "What have you done, Slayer?" Riley. But not Riley. She could never quite remember that.  
  
"Buggering hell," said another. Spike. Only the one Spike.  
  
"Let's get her to the infirmary," Not-Riley said.  
  
"What, and give up my bonus? I don't bloody think so." Spike shook off his coat, then peeled off his shirt. "I got her. She hasn't lost that much, I can patch her up."  
  
"You'd better. Adam won't be happy if you let his prize rat die."  
  
"She won't die," Spike said, shredding his tee-shirt and wrapping it around her wrist. "Will you, Pet?"  
  
Not-Riley left them, and shut the door.  
  
"There now," said Spike. "You didn't really think I'd let you die by any hand other than mine, did you?" He stood, pulling her to her feet. He licked her blood off of his fingers and smiled. "Still, if you're so eager to spill your own blood ..."  
  
He turned her around and shoved her face first into the wall. She was dimly aware of the sound of his belt being undone, and of his hands pushing her pants down. She'd lost enough blood to feel dizzy, which made it easier to pretend she'd left her own body. When he shoved himself inside her, and then shoved his teeth into her neck, she wasn't there, so it was okay. He couldn't touch her. As he drank her blood, he also drank her consciousness. She felt herself drifting away. Everything faded mercifully to black.  
  
***  
  
Plaster cracked against his back as he crashed into the wall. Surprised, he shook off the dizziness and stared at Buffy.  
  
"Ask me again why I could never love you!"  
  
She clutched her robe tight. Bruises were already forming on the bits of skin he could still see. But he ... No. He hadn't ... "Buffy, my God. I didn't --"  
  
"Because I _stopped_ you!" Tears streamed down her face. "Something I should have done a long time ago."  
  
Spike couldn't stop staring. This ... this didn't happen. He didn't just try ... but he did. Oh, God. How could he ... He loved her, more than anything, and he ... he tried to rape her. He swore he'd never hurt her, and he tried to rape her. He had to get out of there. Had to get away from her.   
  
He ran.  
  
What the fuck was that? And why the bloody hell did he feel like this? He was a _vampire_, goddamn it! He wasn't supposed to feel guilty! He was _supposed_ to hurt her. He was _supposed_ to kill the bitch! Causing her pain wasn't supposed to cut him up like this. He had to do something. Had to make it stop. Had to make sure it wouldn't happen again.  
  
He left.  
  
The demon said he had to pass a test. Fine. He could do that. He could take whatever the bastard threw at him. He did, too. Hurt like hell, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. His prize, though ... that was something else entirely. He'd never known pain like that. Everything he'd done, everything he'd been, all the hurt he'd caused ... it all came back on him tenfold. And he knew. The soul hadn't made him what he was. It didn't turn him into something Buffy deserved. He would never deserve her. He was a monster, and always would be. She could never love a thing like him. Nothing could ever make him worthy of her.  
  
Nowhere to run.  
  
Spike collapsed on the cave floor and sobbed. Never had he felt so utterly alone.  
  
Buffy jumped as a sob outside her echoed the one in her head. She opened her eyes and took in the crypt. Spike had broken out of the circle. He was crawling away from her on his hands and knees, but he stopped as his stomach heaved. Buffy watched, frozen, while he dry-retched between sobs as full of despair and self-loathing as the ones he'd cried in the cave. Tara knelt beside him, trying to hold him up. The others surrounded them, nobody knowing what to do. Again, Spike gagged, and then he rested his forehead on the cold concrete. His whole body shook.   
  
Buffy felt torn. Part of her wanted to go to him, to try and comfort him. She started to reach out; but then she remembered what he must've seen that had torn him up so, and she recoiled. She thought of the things _she'd_ just witnessed -- the things he'd done for her, the things _she'd_ done to _him_ -- and she couldn't deal with it. She had to get out of there.  
  
She scrambled to her feet and ran for the door. Ignoring Giles's cries of protest, Buffy escaped into the night.  
  
***  
  
END, PART EIGHT   
Next: _Crux_


	9. Crux

Perfect World

Part Nine: Crux 

by cousinjean  
  


  
  
  
***  
  
Buffy didn't go far. She was wigged, not brain damaged. The cemetery at night was a fine place for the Slayer to be, but she had to remember that she no longer _was _the Slayer. This place was full of things that she couldn't even defend against, let alone defeat.  
  
_Like the 'thing' back in the crypt? Sure looks like you defeated that. _Buffy shuddered. He had been so broken. Not only now, in this place, but there. After ... everything. And in his world, she had been the one to break him.  
  
Part of her was glad.  
  
The rest of her felt sick. _That_ was the better world? One that had turned her into the sort of person who could _use_ somebody that way? Somebody who loved her?  
  
And boy, did he love her. She couldn't deny that. She'd felt it. It was part of her now. She'd also felt the confusion and frustration that went along with it.  
  
A wave of nausea hit her. Buffy sank to her knees, and crawled over to rest against a headstone. Spike loved her. Spike had gotten a soul. For her. _Spike_! The same Spike who... but no, not the same Spike. That was the whole point. Different Spike, different world. Different Buffy. Emotionally numb Buffy, who'd done the whole self-sacrificey hero thing and then got torn out of Heaven. Brought back by her friends ... her friends who were still alive and still loved her. She'd told Spike she lived in hell. Buffy wished she could reach through the dimensional barrier and smack her other self upside the head. That Buffy had never known true hell.  
  
She wasn't sure she wanted to be that girl. She wasn't even sure she wanted that life. But it was sure as hell better than the one she'd been living for the last few years. Even if the best thing about that other life was her worst enemy.  
  
She could hardly wrap her brain around it. Giving up, she leaned back and gazed in wonder at the newly emerging stars. It had been so long since she'd seen the sky. She kneaded her palms against the ground, feeling the texture of the overgrown grass and dirt as she inhaled fresh California air, relishing the faint scent of saltwater that mingled with the night breeze. So different from the harsh, white antisepticness of the Initiative.   
  
Antiseptic. Buffy laughed at that. No better word to describe it, though there was nothing clean about that place.  
  
Footsteps approached, and she drew further into the shadows. Giles called her name. She held still, tried to quiet her breathing so he wouldn't detect her. As glad as she was to see him again, she didn't want to deal right now. Didn't want to talk. She just wanted to be. But he called her again, and this time she registered the fear in his voice. With a sigh, Buffy peered at him from behind the headstone. "Over here."  
  
Without a word, he sat down beside her. Buffy drew her knees to her chest, and for a while, they sat together in silence. Finally she asked, "How is he?"   
  
"Spike?"   
  
Buffy nodded.   
  
"He, uh ... he's rather a mess, actually. When I left he was curled up into a sniveling ball on the floor. Dare I ask what he saw that made him react so?"  
"You don't want to know."  
  
"I do," said Giles, "but I won't press."  
  
Buffy said nothing, engrossing herself instead in the patterns of ivy covering the headstone in front of her. Giles made a little impatient cough, then asked, "What did you see? Was he telling the truth?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And in this other world, there is no Adam?"  
  
"There was," said Buffy, "but we beat him. Me, you, Xander and Willow ... Riley. It took all of us working together."  
  
"Spike didn't help, then."  
  
Buffy frowned. "Not exactly. But there was a whole 'nother apocalypse after that, he helped with that one."  
  
"And we all survived that one as well?"  
  
Buffy nodded. "You all did. I didn't." At the sharp intake of air from Giles, she looked at him. "But I came back," she assured him. "Willow and Xander brought me back to life." A bitter laugh escaped her. "And I resented the hell out of them for it."  
  
Giles's brow wrinkled up. "You got all of this from your link with Spike? How does he --"  
  
"I told him." She started to pick the grass at her feet. "I confided in him. After I came back, he was the only one I could really talk to, who understood. And then I ..." She shook her head. "Giles, I'm not sure I like the person I became in that universe."  
  
Giles took off his glasses and considered something. "Well, I'm not certain whether this vouches well for her character, but Spike certainly seems to hold that Buffy in high esteem."  
  
"He loves her," she said softly.   
  
"Hmm." Giles nibbled on the earpiece of his glasses. "That's not surprising, really. Once he acquired his soul, it makes sense that he would develop feelings for you."  
  
Buffy shook her head. "No, it was before that. He got the soul on purpose. _Because_ he loved me."  
  
Giles gaped at her. "You're certain?"  
  
"Giles, I _felt_ it. God, I can _still_ feel it."  
  
"Well. That's ... that's certainly without precedent."  
  
"No kidding."  
  
Giles remained lost in thought for a while; then he blinked and put his glasses back on. "I must say, Buffy, a world in which a vampire is capable of such a thing has got to be better than this one."  
  
Buffy sniffed, and wiped her nose. "I guess." She leaned her head against the weathered granite behind her as images from the spell replayed in her mind. "I have a sister there."  
  
"Yes, Spike mentioned that. He became quite distressed when he discovered he'd undone her existence."  
  
"He loved her too." Buffy groaned and shook her head. "God, this is all just too much."  
  
"It's a big decision, whether to help him. As Spike already pointed out, there's no need to rush into it."  
  
"He deserves to go home." She straightened up and turned to face Giles. "What's it like here? On the outside, I mean. Tell me the truth."  
  
"It's ... life is not pleasant here, Buffy. Those of us in the Resistance are constantly on the run, always in hiding. Most of us have lost loved ones to Adam's new Initiative, or to the vampires. Some people have chosen not to fight. I suppose they have some semblance of normal life ... during the day, at least. But the vampires rule this town, and those people are easy pickings, to put it mildly."  
  
"What about Adam? I know how to kill him, but I'd have to get close to him, disable him somehow."  
  
"I don't see how that's possible," said Giles. "Even if you were to somehow succeed, his army is vast and widespread. I'm not certain of the extent of his control, but it reaches far beyond Sunnydale."  
  
Buffy sighed. "So. Putting things back the way they should be? Really not much of a choice, is it?" She got to her feet and held out her hand to Giles. "We should go get started on that."  
  
Giles let her pull him up. For a moment, he stood there and looked at her, his expression unreadable. Then he put a hand on her shoulder and smiled. "Have I mentioned how terribly proud I am of you?"  
  
Buffy nearly crumpled. After two years of being treated like dirt by everyone around her, all of this love was a little tough to take. She somehow maintained her composure, and gave Giles a watery smile before leading him back to the crypt.  
  
Candles had been lit and placed around the crypt. Their light was helped by the sodium glow of a streetlight coming through the window. The others all appeared relieved to see her and Giles return, despite Gunn and Lauren having almost jumped them when they came through the door. Tara looked up from clearing away the remnants of the spell and smiled uncertainly at Buffy before glancing over at Spike.  
  
He seemed to have recovered somewhat. He'd returned to his place on the window seat, sitting cross-legged and hunched over with his head propped against his fist. He held an unlit cigarette in his other hand, gazing at it wistfully as he stroked the filter with his thumb.  
  
"Giles," Buffy said, her eyes on Spike, "you have that summoning spell?"  
  
"I have part of _a_ summoning spell, yes. Tara, perhaps you could help me?"  
  
"I can try." Tara got up and followed Giles over to the supplies.  
  
Buffy approached Spike. "You gonna smoke that?"  
  
Startled, he jerked his head up to look at her. Buffy felt a disconcerting pang of sympathy when she saw his face. His eyes were red and puffy, and his expression ... expressions was more like it. Surprise, guilt, love, hope, fear -- all of those things and more showed up on his face in the space of a second. Then he looked away, and tucked the cigarette in his breast pocket. "Not this one," he said. He produced a pack from a different pocket, avoiding her eyes as he pulled out another and lit it.  
  
"Sp--" she began, but couldn't say it. It didn't feel right to call him by that name. "William," she finally settled on. He met her eyes then, his face showing only surprise.  
  
Buffy swallowed, but held his gaze. "Tell me about Dawn."  
  
***  
  
Spike stared, his brain refusing to move past the fact that she'd just called him by his given name. Probably shouldn't read too much into that, should he? God, how could she even stand the sight of him? Looked like she was waiting for something from him.   
  
Oh, right. Dawn.   
  
"Um." His voice shook. He cleared his throat. "Well, see, there was this ancient entity called the Key --"  
  
"I got that part," said Buffy. She took a seat at the other end of the alcove. "What's she like?"  
  
Spike couldn't help but smile a little. "Hell of a lot like you, actually. Makes sense, seeing as how she's made out of you." He swung his legs down and leaned forward, elbows on knees. "She's stubborn like you. Brave, too. 'Course, she's a lot more spoiled than you ever were."  
  
At this, Buffy managed a laugh -- barely perceptible, but he heard it. "You might be surprised."  
  
"I sincerely doubt that, Love." He stiffened, remembering how much she hated that; but she didn't react. Spike went on. "Anyway, that's not a criticism or anything. I mean, she went through a hell of a rough patch, losing your mum, then you ..." He swallowed, and looked down at his cigarette. "I coddled her as much as anybody. Just wanted to make her feel better, y'know?"  
  
He chanced another glance her way. She didn't meet his eyes, but she nodded. "I do."  
  
Spike took a quick drag, then flicked off the ashes and watched them float to the ground. "Dawn's a sweet kid," he said. "I hope I get to see her again."  
  
Buffy's gaze drifted to the front of the crypt, where Tara and Giles assembled the spell accoutrements. "They're working on it." Buffy frowned. "Dawn ... and Tara. They were close."   
  
"Yeh." Spike scratched his forehead. "Tara stepped up last summer, really took care of the Bit."  
  
Her frown deepened. "She ... We have to tell her."  
  
Puzzled, Spike looked at Buffy. "Tell her ..." Then he realized. "No. We don't."  
  
She faced him then, anger reasserting itself in the set of her shoulders, the line of her mouth.   
  
"Yes we do."  
  
"What good will that do?"  
  
"It ..." Buffy's shoulders drooped a little, and she shook her head. "She has a right to know."  
  
"Oh, sure. Let's go tell her, then. 'Hey, thanks for helping to put the universe back right. By the way, in the other one? You _died._'"  
  
"Exactly!" Buffy's voice began to rise. "It should be her choice!"  
  
"There _is_ no choice, you _know_ that." Spike shook his head. "She's better off not knowing."  
  
"We don't get to make that decision."  
  
"But we're the only ones who can!" He closed his eyes and sighed. Yelling at this Buffy was _so_ not a good idea ... even if it did feel comforting to do something so natural. "Look, Pet, there's nothing we can --"  
  
A polite cough interrupted him, and he looked up to see Tara standing there, a sheet of paper in her hand. "We, um ... Giles thinks we've got it."  
  
Buffy stared at her with wide eyes. "Tara, did ... you didn't just hear ..."  
  
Tara looked down at her paper and nodded.  
  
Buffy took hold of her hand. "We don't have to go through with it."  
  
Spike threw down his cigarette. "_Yes_ we--"  
  
"We _don't_." Her eyes dared him to argue. When he didn't, she turned back to Tara. "You get a say in this."  
  
Tara looked from Buffy to Spike. "H ... how?"  
  
"Um." Spike had to clear his throat. The enormity of what he was asking her to do hit him, and he found it impossible to meet her eyes. "Gunshot," he said. "I don't know the details. I wasn't there." Soul or no soul, suddenly he couldn't blame Willow one bit for what she'd done to Warren. "I'm sorry." And he was. Sorry to lose her, sorry she had to make this sacrifice. Sorry that he hadn't been there, that he couldn't have done something to stop it. She was the best of them, a truly good person. "I'm sorry," he said again. It was all he could say.  
  
Tara just stood there for a long time, processing it all. Then she swallowed and licked her lips. "But ... but that world, it's better. Right? I mean, there's no Adam?"   
  
Hugging herself, Buffy nodded. "We beat him there."  
  
Tara turned back to Spike. "And I did some good there, right? I helped people?"  
  
"Yeh. You did loads of good."  
  
Tara nodded.  
  
"And you were happy," Spike said, finally forcing himself to look at her. "I mean, you were in love, with someone who loved you back." He glanced self-consciously at Buffy, then refocused on Tara. "You were somebody's whole world."  
  
Tara looked back at the parchment. It rattled as her hands trembled. Then she raised her chin, her face resolute, and held the paper out to Spike. "Here's the spell. I can walk you through it, whenever you're ready."  
  
Buffy put a hand on her arm. "Tara, you don't have to--"  
  
"Yes I do." She managed a smile. "Spike's right, there is no choice. And this way maybe ... maybe my death can count for something."  
  
"What about me?"  
  
All heads turned toward the voice. Harmony stood by the opening to the cavern below, a crossbow hanging limply at her side.   
  
From her position at the door, Lauren charged, stake in hand. Gunn held her back. "Whoa. We can't interrogate dust." Raising his weapon, he backed around Harmony and peered through the opening as Lauren disarmed the vampire. "Doesn't look like she brought any homies," announced Gunn.  
  
Giles climbed to his feet. "What _about_ you, Harmony? How long have you been there?"  
  
"Long enough to know that my platinum baby's been replaced by some souly impostor guy from some other universe or something." Pouting, she turned to Spike. "I should have known you weren't really him. You were too nice to me."  
  
"Harm ..." Spike sighed. "How did you find us?"  
  
"I was looking for you, in the tunnels. You disappeared and I was worried. And I heard voices up here."  
  
"Splendid," sighed Giles. "Gunn, Lauren, go below and make sure she came alone."  
  
"You're _still_ with Harmony?" Buffy stood with arms folded and eyebrows raised, looking Harmony over with excessive disdain.  
  
Harmony put a hand on her hip and gave Buffy the same look. "At least I can keep a man, Slayer," she said with a toss of her hair.   
  
Spike rolled his eyes. _You can take the girls out of high school ..._  
  
Harmony's eyebrows drew together as she seemed to remember something. "Hey! I thought you were dead!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah." Buffy turned to Tara. "You're sure you want to do this?"   
  
Tara nodded.   
  
"Then we'd better hurry," Buffy said to Giles. "If Harmony could find us so easy then we really must be sitting ducks."  
  
"Yes, quite." He knelt back down where he'd been preparing the spell. Tara joined him there.  
  
"What about me?" Harmony asked again. "What am I like in this other world?" She and Buffy both looked expectantly at Spike.  
  
"Um. You, uh ... well, you dumped me." Buffy put a hand over her mouth to suppress a snicker. Spike shot her a look, though he was so delighted to hear genuine laughter from her that he was hard pressed not to smile. "Anyway," he continued, "you left town. That's really all I know. You were living it up in Mexico last I heard."  
  
"Mexico?" Harmony grinned and clapped her hands excitedly. "Omigod! My parents have this _amazing_ condo in Cancun ... I bet I went there."  
  
"Yeh. Bet that's it."  
  
She spun around and went over to Giles. "I want to help."  
  
Giles paused in the midst of lighting a candle and looked up at her. "That ... really won't be necessary, Harmony."  
  
"Well there must be _something_ I can do. 'Cause this world? Totally _sucks_!"  
  
Giles considered this, then nodded. "So I've noticed."  
  
The crypt door slammed open, and Giles's candle blew out. Harmony looked down at the arrow penetrating her chest.  
  
"Funny," said Willow, lowering her bow as Harmony exploded in a cloud of dust. "'Cause I kinda love this world."  
  
***  
  
Buffy stared up at the face of her best friend. Though frozen in time at nineteen, the cold confidence in her knowing smile betrayed the added years since Buffy had last seen her. Willow stood in the doorway, scanning the crypt. Her smile deepened as her eyes came to rest on Buffy.  
  
A chill ran down Buffy's spine.  
  
Spike moved to stand between them. "Willow. I thought I told you --"  
  
"To find Buffy." She peeked around him and pointed. "Oh look! Found her. Hi Buffy!" she added with an overly friendly wave. She stepped down into the crypt and started to approach, but Spike blocked her path.  
  
"I'm handling it," he told her. "Go wait outside until I need you."  
  
Willow continued to smile. "Nice try. Hey, I have a message from Adam. You're fired. And if I bring you both back alive? I get your old job."  
  
"Not if I kill you first."  
  
"Aww, that's so cute!" She folded her arms and looked him up and down appraisingly. "Who's the widdle hero? You play this part a lot where you come from? 'Cause I gotta say, it's a good look for you. Now if you'll excuse me," she said, unfolding her arms and trying to brush past him, "there's another hero I want to deal with."  
  
Stepping with her, Spike grabbed her arms. "You want her, you gotta go through me."  
  
Willow's smile twisted into a smirk. Then she kneed him in the groin. "Not a problem," she said as he crumpled to his knees. She spun around and kicked him in the head, knocking him to the ground, then stepped over him and stood face to face with Buffy. "Long time no see."  
  
***  
  
Giles fumbled with the matches, trying to relight the candle. "Hand me the buckthorn," he told Tara, but her eyes were following Willow. "Tara!" She looked at him. "This must be our focus right now."  
  
Tara nodded. "Sorry." She handed him the herb.   
  
He crushed a pinch of it between his fingers and let it fall into the flame. "The incantation," he said. She handed him the parchment. He squinted at it, trying to make it out by the light of the candle. Finally he shook his head. "You'll have to ..." But her eyes were back on Willow. Spike knelt before her, then she kicked him in the head and took him down. Without a word, Tara jumped up and started in Buffy's direction, chanting as she went. With a sigh, Giles lit another candle and held it up to illuminate the text.  
  
"Halfrek ... oh protector and revenger of children wronged ... I beseech thee, come before me that I may invoke justice."  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
"Bugger." Giles pulled a pencil from his pocket, crossed out that version of the incantation, and started over.  
  
***  
  
"I'm not going back there," said Buffy. "You'll have to kill me first."  
  
"And don't think I wouldn't enjoy that," said Willow. "A lot."  
  
Buffy's fingers curled into fists at her side. "I don't want to fight you, Willow."  
  
"That's too bad. 'Cause right now I can't think of anything I'd like more."  
  
Buffy swallowed. "Willow, listen to me. In this other world, you were never turned. Adam lost. You got over Oz, and you --" She glanced over at Tara, who was slowly making her way over to them, chanting something under her breath. "You fell in love again. We can get back to that world, Will."  
  
"Oh, Buffy," Willow sighed. "You haven't changed a bit. Well, except for that chip in your head." She took a step closer, but Buffy held her ground. "Weren't you listening?" She spoke as if explaining something to a small child. "I rule here. Or I will, once I bring you in. And anyway, Willow's dead." She shook her head sympathetically. "Really, you of all people should know that."  
  
"I'm sorry," Buffy whispered.  
  
Willow's smile disappeared. "I'm not." She reached for Buffy, but her hand bounced off an invisible forcefield. The air around Buffy crackled and hummed. Tara stood next to her and continued to chant.   
  
Willow turned to Tara, eyes narrowed. "You." She placed her hand against the barrier, felt it crackle against her palm. "I knew I sensed power here. I thought it was Giles, but ..." Willow smiled. "You were the one blocking my locator spell, weren't you?"  
  
Tara responded with louder chanting.  
  
"This," Willow punctuated the word by touching the shield and making it spark, "is powerful magic. You're so strong. But you know what?" She waved a hand. "Aperire." Her hand shot out unhindered and grabbed Tara by the throat. "I'm stronger."  
  
"Leave her alone," warned Buffy.  
  
Willow looked at her like she'd said fire wasn't hot. Then she turned back to Tara. "She always did have this thing with denial." She stroked a finger down Tara's cheek. Tara whimpered, but lifted her chin and bravely stared Willow down. Taking Tara's face in her hands, Willow gave it a twist. The crack echoed throughout the crypt. Tara collapsed to the floor, a puppet whose strings had been cut.  
  
"No."  
  
"It is a shame," Willow concurred. "I could've had fun with her. Maybe even made her like me. Hey, maybe Adam can fix her for me."  
  
Buffy no longer cared about the chip. She balled up her fist and swung.   
  
Willow caught it with a smirk. "Adam said alive. He didn't say anything about unbroken." With her other hand she hit Buffy in the chest, knocking the wind out of her and sending her sprawling. As Willow advanced on Buffy, Spike regained consciousness behind her. He struggled to his feet, but before he could reach Willow a tiny Asian blur barreled into her.  
  
Lauren rolled Willow, but then let go and was back on her feet. "You want to fight a Slayer?" she asked, kicking Willow in the face as she tried to get up. Then Lauren backed up a little and made a summoning gesture with both hands. "Then come get some, bitch."  
  
Willow just laughed and licked the blood from the side of her mouth. "As much as I'd like to, I've already wasted too much time here. Oh, boys!"  
  
"Oh man," said Gunn, pulling himself up from the cavern below, "I do not like the sound of that."  
  
Three of Adam's patchwork soldiers came through the door. As the others launched into battle, Buffy sat on the floor and watched. It was all she could do. She looked at Tara, whose head was twisted around so that her lifeless eyes stared accusingly at Buffy. Tara had wanted her death to have meaning. She'd died trying to protect somebody. Buffy hoped that meant something. She crawled over to her. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she closed Tara's eyelids.  
  
A hand gripped her arm and pulled her up. She started to struggle, but another hand grabbed her other arm. "It's me!" said Spike, giving her a gentle shake.  
Buffy relaxed. She looked back at Tara. "I couldn't save her."  
  
"You were never meant to." His voice held true sorrow. "Come on."  
  
He guided her across the crypt. Gunn and Lauren fought side by side, holding off two of the soldiers, but just barely. The third saw Spike and Buffy and came after them. Spike shoved Buffy down behind the tomb and grabbed a crossbow. He vamped out as he spun around and slammed the butt of the weapon into the soldier's face. The zombie staggered back a few steps. Spike took aim and fired. The bolt imbedded itself in the creature's eye, penetrating to its brain. The soldier went down.  
  
Spike grabbed Buffy by the wrist and pulled her over to Giles. "Now would be a good time to do that spell, Rupert."  
  
"What does it look like I'm doing over here? Baking a bloody cake?"  
  
"How's it coming?"  
  
"I think I've got it this time."  
  
"What can I do?" asked Buffy.  
  
Giles shrugged. "Cross your fingers?"  
  
"Stay with Giles," Spike told Buffy. He went to help Lauren and Gunn.  
  
"Take that herb," Giles said, pointing. "Crumble it over the flame and keep it burning as I read this."  
  
"Giles, what if this doesn't work?"   
  
"Then we're doomed."  
  
"So, the usual."  
  
Giles smiled at her, then held up a sheet of paper and began to read. "Oh mighty Halfrek, revenger of the weak and granter of justice, hear my plea. Come forth from Arashmahar, the halls of vengeance, and grant this --" Giles stopped, and his eyes went wide. He looked at Buffy. "Wish." With that, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped forward into her lap. A crossbow bolt stuck out of his back.  
  
"What do you know," said Willow, coming to stand before Buffy. She slung her bow over her shoulder as she pulled another bolt out of her boot and held it up. "These things kill humans, too."  
  
Buffy looked down at Giles, unmoving and unbreathing. She didn't think, she just moved. Gripping the bolt, she pulled it out of his back, then shoved him off of her and pushed to her feet.   
  
Willow sneered. "Oh, please. What do you think you're gonna do with that?"  
  
Buffy raised the stake. "This."   
  
The pain began before she even moved, but she didn't let it stop her. Enough momentum and it wouldn't matter. She could be unconscious, or even dead, but the stake would still find its way home. Buffy lunged. Even as the currents flooded her brain she felt the satisfying plunge of wood into flesh. the last thing she saw before white-hot pain blinded her was her best friend's face crumbling into dust. Then everything went blank.  
  
***  
  
Spike and Gunn rammed the last soldier together, slamming him into the wall. They pinned the bugger there while the Slayer ran at them. She flipped through the air and landed a boot to the soldier's head, smashing it backwards into the wall and cracking the bastard's skull. For good measure, Spike grabbed its head and snapped its neck. He looked around at the bodies of the other soldiers. Definitely dead. But where the hell was Willow?  
  
A scream. Spike spun around in time to see Buffy and a Willow-shaped column of dust both collapse to the floor next to Giles.  
  
"Oh my God," said Gunn between gasps for air. "G!"  
  
But Spike was already there. He could tell the life was gone from Giles, so he left it to Gunn to check and see for sure. Spike's attention was on Buffy. She was alive. Her eyes had rolled back in her head and spasms wracked her body. "Come on," he pleaded as he gathered her into his lap. "Come on, Baby. Just hold on. Just ride it out. Stay with me, Buffy, please!" As he rocked her, her seizure subsided, and she went limp in his arms. "That's it," Spike said. "That's my girl. You're gonna be all right, Buffy." He looked over at Giles. Gunn and Lauren knelt beside him, Lauren holding and stroking his hand as she cried.  
  
Gunn wiped his nose, then looked around the crypt at all the death it held. "So what happens now?"  
  
"A-_hem_!"  
  
Spike turned around. Halfrek stood in the middle of the room, hands on her hips.  
  
"Somebody order a wish?"  
  
***  
  
END, PART NINE 

Next: _We Now Return You To Your Regularly Scheduled Life_


	10. We Now Return You To Your Regularly Sche...

Perfect World

Part Ten: We Now Return You To Your Regularly Scheduled Life 

by cousinjean  
  


  
  
  
***  
  
Gunn and Lauren sprang to their feet. Spike gently laid Buffy down and stood up.  
  
"Halfrek."  
  
"William." Halfrek's hands dropped to her sides. "Don't tell me _you_ summoned me."  
  
"No, Giles did. But he's dead now."  
  
Halfrek frowned at the bodies littering the floor. "Well, _he_ had no business calling me, anyway."  
  
"Uh huh." Spike looked at Lauren. "Get her."  
  
The Slayer rushed Halfrek, but she teleported out of reach. "Rude! I answer your summons and this is how you treat me?"  
"I hear you're the one to blame for all this," said Lauren.  
  
"Ha!" Bitch had the nerve to look indignant. "_Me_? All I did was grant William's wish. Don't blame me if you're not happy with the way it turned out. Anyway, Xander Harris is dead, so I don't see what you're comp--"  
  
"Who the hell's William?" asked Gunn.  
  
Halfrek looked around for Spike, but he'd snuck up behind her. He grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head back. "That'd be me," he said, snatching the pendant from her throat.  
  
"Hey!" Halfrek tried to pry his hand out of her hair with one hand, and flailed for her necklace with the other. "Give that back!"  
  
"Don't think so." Spike shoved her away and searched for something to smash the stone.  
  
"What are you going to do?"  
  
In answer, Spike picked up a discarded crossbow. He laid the pendant on the floor, knelt beside it, and poised the butt of the bow over it.  
  
"You don't want to do that," warned Halfrek.  
  
"The hell I don't." He raised the bow.  
  
"You'll be stuck with me!"  
  
He froze and looked at her. "What?"  
  
Halfrek wrung her hands and stared at the necklace. "If you destroy my power source, I'll become human. You'll be stuck with a human me. I don't think _any_ of us wants that."  
  
Well, she had that much right. Spike lowered the bow. "Then undo my wish. Put it all back the way it was."  
  
"I can't."  
  
He nodded. Then he lifted the bow.  
  
"Not that easily!" she amended. "I mean, I can't just snap my fingers and _poof_, you're back home. My powers don't work like that."  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. "Fine. Then I wish the Initiative captured me and put a chip in my head." He considered this, then laughed in spite of himself. "There's something I never thought I'd say."  
  
"_You_ can't wish it, William. Honestly. You've already used your wish."  
  
Spike sighed. "You're wearing my patience, Cecily, and my arm's getting tired."  
  
"Who's Cecily?" asked Gunn. Lauren shrugged.  
  
"Buffy!" Halfrek pointed to her, lying on the floor. "With all she's been through, she definitely has a wish coming. A wish upon you, no less. That's really more Anyanka's territory, but I suppose I could make an exception."  
  
"Good."  
  
Spike looked over at Buffy. She'd rolled onto her side and lay watching them. She pushed herself up, wobbling a little as she got to her feet.   
  
Spike went over to help her. "You all right?"  
  
"Amen for Slayer healing," she mumbled.  
  
"Sing it, Sister!" Lauren shouted out, then squirmed sheepishly in the silence that followed.   
  
Even so, Buffy managed a weak smile. "So, I get a wish?"  
  
"That's right," said Halfrek. "And you can use it however you want, as long as it's in pursuit of justice against the one who wronged you."  
  
"Or," said Spike, holding up the necklace, "I could just destroy this little bauble and we can all get on with our lives. I'm sure Anya can help you out with the whole suddenly human part."  
  
Halfrek folded her arms and glared at Spike. "Your wish?" she asked Buffy.  
  
Buffy took the pendant from Spike. "I don't know. Seems to me _you're_ the one who wronged us all, by creating this place."  
  
With a sigh, Halfrek rubbed her forhead. "D'Hoffryn help me, I'm speaking to children," she muttered. "That was _also_ his doing." She gestured towards Spike.  
  
"Right." Buffy took a deep breath, then blew it out. "Guess I'd better be pretty precise, huh? And here I thought I wouldn't wish this chip on my worst enemy."  
  
"Hold up." Gunn raised a hand. "Just ... one question. What happens to us in this other world?" He gestured to himself and Lauren.  
  
Buffy raised her eyebrows at Spike. He shrugged. "I don't know either one of you. I s'pose you're probably still working for my grandsire. And you," he turned to Lauren, "I guess you don't have to be the Slayer."  
  
She frowned, and gazed at Giles's body. "What about him? He's still alive there, right?"  
  
"Yes," said Spike. "Very much so."  
  
Lauren nodded, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.  
  
Gunn nodded. "Sounds good to me." He reached out and took Lauren's hand, gave it a squeeze, and smiled. "Been nice knowin' you." Lauren couldn't quite manage a smile in return, and threw her arms around his middle instead.  
  
"Right, then." Spike turned back to Buffy. "It's up to you now, Pet."  
  
Buffy held Spike's eyes for a long moment. Something was at work behind hers, but Spike couldn't tell what. Then she looked at Halfrek. "I want two wishes."  
  
Halfrek's arms went limp at her side. "You ... come again?"  
  
Spike squinted at her. "Buffy, what're you --"  
  
"I think I deserve two."  
  
"But that ... That's not how it's done."  
  
Buffy studied the pendant in her hand. "Y'know, it's been a long time since I've tested out my Slayer strength. I wonder if I could crush this with my bare hands."  
  
"I suppose I _could_ make an exception." Halfrek waved her hands and smiled magnanimously. "It seems I'm all about the exceptions tonight."  
  
"Yeh, you're a real saint," muttered Spike.  
  
"Actually, it depends on the religion." Halfrek raised an eyebrow at Buffy. "Well?"  
  
She glanced at Spike, then turned to face Halfrek. "I wish that when Spike came back to Sunnydale, in November of 1999, that the Initiative captured him and made it so he couldn't harm any living being."  
  
***  
  
"The top ten outtakes from the State of the Union address, Ladies and Gentlemen."  
  
Spike didn't know how long he stood there, blinking at the telly, before he reached out and shut it off. He yanked his shirt up. The wounds he'd received from Adam and the Franken-soldiers were still there -- not a good sign. He scanned the crypt, taking inventory. Fridge, stereo, candles, comfy chair ... well all right, then. This was more like it. No dead bodies, nobody trying to kill him --  
  
The door slammed open, and Xander stormed in, stake in hand. Well. So much for that last part.  
  
"Harris." Spike stood his ground. "I take it your continued existence means the end of mine."  
  
Xander stopped in his tracks. "Huh?"  
  
Spike looked at the stake. "Come to finish the job, then?"  
  
Xander's fingers opened and closed on the stake. "Look, Spike, believe it or not, I don't want to do this." Spike snorted. Xander took a step closer. "I _don't_. I mean, sure, I hate your guts, and I also hate all of your non-guts parts. But bottom line, you've helped us out. You've done some good, and that should count for something. I get that."  
  
Spike raised an eyebrow. "But?"  
  
"But you've also done a lot of damage. And I'm not gonna wait around for you to do more. Sooner or later, you're just gonna get somebody hurt, and then Buffy'll have to ..." He shook his head. "I don't want to see her go through that again."  
  
"And you think I do?"  
  
"I think you're too screwed up to know _what_ you want."  
  
"Oh ho! You're one to talk, Mister King of Cold Feet."  
  
Xander closed the gap between them and grabbed Spike by the lapels. "Listen up, Chip, I'm trying to play fair."  
  
"You got a warped sense of fair play," Spike muttered, staring at the stake.  
  
"I want you out," said Xander. "Out of our town, out of our lives. If I see you back here again, I _will_ kill you."  
  
"That's not your call, Harris."  
  
"I just made it my call."  
  
Spike really did not have the patience for this. "Too fucking bad!" Bracing for the pain, he shoved Xander away. Nothing happened. Astonished, Spike put a hand to his head. Then he looked up at Xander and grinned. "Well, how 'bout that?"  
  
Xander's eyes widened. "How 'bout what?"  
  
Spike advanced on Xander and shoved him again. "No pain."  
  
Xander swallowed and backed up of his own accord. "No ... but ... the chip?"  
  
Still stalking him, Spike shrugged. "'S not working." The "Oh shit" look on Xander's face would go down as one of Spike's more priceless memories. So would the way he almost tripped all over himself trying to get up the steps to the door. Before he could reach it, Spike flew up the steps after him. He grabbed Xander, turned him around, and slammed him into the door.   
  
Oh, the things he could do to this boy. Three years' worth of violent fantasies flashed before his eyes, interspersed with memories of getting shoved around, put down, and beaten up. But there were other memories, too. Memories of pool matches and poker games, shooting the breeze on patrols, fighting side by side. The betrayed look on his face after Spike had slept with Anya. Giles's haunted eyes as he told of Xander getting tossed down the Hellmouth. Spike being dragged away from that very same spot as the ceiling came down around them, too dazed to make it out without the boy's help.   
  
Suddenly revenge didn't taste so good.  
  
Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, Spike let Xander go and opened the door. "Get out."  
  
Xander stood there for a moment, doing a pretty good impression of a fish. "Huh?" he finally managed.  
  
Spike sighed. "I've just been to hell and back, Harris, and I'm really too tired to deal with you. Leave. _Now_. And if I were you, I wouldn't come back here."   
  
He looked torn between arguing and running for dear life. Finally some sense kicked in, and he did the latter. Spike slammed the door shut behind him and rested his head against the jamb.  
  
"Well, _that_ was disappointing."  
  
Spike whirled around to see Halfrek standing in the spot he'd last seen her, fingering her necklace protectively.  
  
"I mean, you could've at least _hit_ him or something."  
  
"Where did you come from?"  
  
She sighed and waved a dismissive hand. "I'd have been here sooner, but the Slayer felt the need to chat before she made her second wish."  
  
Spike's hands balled into fists as he stalked toward her. "You didn't exactly grant her first wish, did you? I'm still not chipped, you didn't put it right."  
  
Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, did I forget to restore your chip?" With a giggle, she shrugged. "Oops, my bad!"  
  
"Your --" Spike shook his head. "You realize you've eliminated Buffy's only excuse not to stake me?" His shoulders slumped as it dawned on him. "That was her second wish, wasn't it?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous. Just think of that as a personal favor."  
  
"You know, I think I can do without any more favors from you."  
  
Halfrek sniffed. "I don't know what you're getting so worked up about. I've given you the best of both worlds. You're back in your own dimension, and Xander can't bully you any more. Of course, I thought you'd take better advantage of being able to hurt him, but ..." She shrugged. "Now stop being such a crybaby."  
  
Spike's eyes narrowed. "Remind me why I don't just kill you."  
  
Halfrek smirked at him, then disapparated. She reappeared directly behind him. "Because you can't, silly." She sighed. "Cheer up, William. Soon you'll appreciate the gifts I've given you."  
  
"Gifts? What gifts? All you've done is bollixed it up for me! Without the bloody chip --"  
  
"Piffle. You don't need that ridiculous artificial conscience. You have a soul."  
  
"Buffy doesn't know that!"  
  
Halfrek raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't she?"  
  
That was it. Maybe Spike couldn't kill her, but he could have a good time throttling her. He lunged for her throat, but she disappeared. He stumbled, then composed himself and looked around. She didn't reappear.   
  
"Halfrek?"  
  
Nothing.  
  
Spike closed his eyes and sighed. "Bloody hell."  
  
***  
  
Buffy opened her eyes and blinked up at the face of her sister.  
  
"Buffy? Are you okay? I've been trying to wake you for, like, five minutes."  
  
"I ... You. You're Dawn."  
  
Dawn straightened up. "Okay, you're scaring me."  
  
Buffy sat up. Her hands flew to her head. She breathed a sigh as she felt her hair fall past her shoulders, then looked around. She was still on her front porch, where she'd fallen asleep in the wicker loveseat.   
  
Dawn sat down beside her. "Buffy, _are_ you okay?"  
  
Buffy shook off her confusion, then looked at Dawn. Then she pulled the girl into a hug. "I am _so_ glad you're in my life."  
  
"Um ... thanks? Me too." When Buffy didn't let go, Dawn started to squirm. "Buffy? Now you're just freaking me out."  
  
Buffy pulled back and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry." She brushed Dawn's hair behind her ear. "I just wanted you to know that."  
  
"I do." Dawn's brows knight together as she studied Buffy. "You're not okay, are you? What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing. I just ... I had this dream."  
  
Dawn's eyes grew wide. "A Slayer dream? What was it? Is there gonna be another apocalypse?"  
  
Buffy shook her head. "No, nothing like that. It's ..." She closed her eyes against the memories flashing through her mind, all of them too real for a mere dream. She opened her eyes and looked at Dawn. "I need to go see Spike. Will you be okay by yourself for a little while?"  
  
"Hello, sixteen now? Trained with you all summer? I think I can stay home by myself for a few hours."  
  
"I know. And I shouldn't be gone that long."  
  
She started to get up, but Dawn seized her wrist. "You had a Slayer dream about Spike? Is he okay?"  
  
Buffy took her hand and squeezed it. "He's fine, as far as I know. And it wasn't a dream so much as a ... a vision?" She sighed. "I don't know _what_ the hell it was. That's why I need to see him."  
  
Dawn nodded and took back her hand. "Just be careful, okay?"  
  
Buffy smiled. "Spike won't hurt me, Dawn."  
  
"Oh, I know that. But it's late, and there are plenty of creepy things out there." She considered this. "Want me to go with you?"  
  
Buffy raised an eyebrow. "I think the _Slayer_ can handle walking alone at night. As for the Slayer's _sister_, isn't she up past her bedtime on a school night?"  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes, but she got to her feet. "Fine. But I mean it. Be careful."  
  
"I will," Buffy said, watching her sister go inside. With a deep breath, she stepped off the porch and set her path for Spike's crypt.  
  
On the way, she tried to process everything she'd seen. It didn't feel like a dream. It didn't even feel like the visions she'd had. Some of it -- a lot of it -- was just too awful to contemplate; but somewhere in there were things she knew she had to remember, truths she couldn't allow herself to forget. She closed her eyes and focused on the last part. Something had happened right before she'd woken up.  
  
***  
  
_Everything went white.  
  
"Where ... what happened?"  
  
"Wish granted."   
  
"So it's all put right."  
  
"The fabric of reality has been restored to the way it was before William made his wish, yes. More or less."  
  
"More or ... what? What did you do?"  
  
"Me? Nothing! Why do you people keep insisting on blaming me for everything?"  
  
"Look, whatever. Just give me my second wish. I get another one, right?"  
  
Halfrek sighed. "That _was_ the deal. Can I have my necklace back now?"  
  
"After I've made my wish."  
  
Halfrek rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Well?"  
  
"I want to remember."  
  
"Can you be more specific?"  
  
"This world. Everything that happened to me here. I want the other me to remember."  
  
"Well _that's_ highly irregular."  
  
Buffy looked at the pendant clutched in her fist, then set it on the ground and raised her foot.  
  
"Wait! I didn't say it couldn't be done!"  
  
Buffy nodded, but didn't put her foot down. "Spike too. He should remember what he experienced here. That's my wish."  
  
"That technically counts as two extra wishes --"  
  
Buffy made as if to stomp.  
  
"But with all he did to you here, I suppose that would be a fitting punishment."  
  
Satisfied, Buffy scooped up the necklace and tossed it to Halfrek. With a relieved giggle, the vengeance demon dusted off the pendant and refastened the chain around her neck. Then she winked at Buffy and waved her fingers.  
  
"Wish granted."  
  
_***  
  
Buffy was _so_ gonna kick Halfrek's ass the next time she saw her. She wished she could kick her own ass -- or, her other ass, or ... something -- for dumping all those memories in her head. As if things weren't complicated enough.   
  
Rounding the cemetery's front gate, she saw Xander headed towards her. Yay, more complications. "Xander? What are you doing here?"  
  
"I just came from Spike's." He had that look on his face, like he needed to tell her something important and not good. Buffy hated that look.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Buffy, Spike ... the chip ..." He shook his head. "I don't know if he got it out, or it stopped working, or what. But let's just say the Joker's out of Arkham."  
  
"And you know this how?" Her eyes drifted to the stake clutched in his hand. "Xander, what did you do?"  
  
"What I ..." He looked at his stake. "Nothing!" He put it in his pocket. "I just went over there to threaten him. You know, the big, manly, protective big brother routine."  
  
"Did he hurt you?" She scanned him for damage, but he didn't have any visible injuries.   
  
"No. I mean, he shoved me around a little, hence the chip-free discovery."  
  
"But he ... I mean, when you beat him up earlier, the chip still worked."  
  
"I thought it did. He could've been faking it. My guess is, that's where he was all these months. Figuring out a way to get rid of it."  
  
Buffy shook her head. "No. That's not where he was."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"I just do, okay?" Buffy remembered something. "'More or less'," she muttered, shaking her head. "Stupid vengeance demon."  
  
"Huh? What's Anya got to do with this?"  
"Nothing. And not her. Just ... okay, he shoved you. Then what?"  
  
"Then ..." Xander had the grace to look sheepish. "He told me to leave."  
  
Buffy raised her eyebrows. "That's it?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well. Let me hurry over there and take care of this menace to society."  
  
"Buffy, this is serious."  
  
"I know. I _am_ serious. Spike could have killed you. At the very least he could've gotten you back for what you did to him tonight. He didn't. Why do you think that is?"  
  
"He --" Xander slumped a little, defeated. "I don't know."  
  
"I do," Buffy said. "Xander, will you do me a favor? Can you go over to the house? I know Dawn's a big girl now and all, but I still don't like the idea of her being alone this late. And I don't know how long I'll be gone."  
  
"Sure. Where are you going?"  
  
"To see Spike."  
  
Xander nodded. "Buffy, look. I know you have feelings for the guy. If you can't ... maybe I should go with you."  
  
She shook her head. "I have to do this alone."  
  
"Do you know what you're gonna do?"  
  
Buffy looked up at him. "What I wish I did last night, when he came to my house."  
  
"You ... you mean dust him?"  
  
"No. I mean forgive him."  
  
Xander's mouth dropped open, then he closed it and hung his head. "I love you," he said finally, raising his eyes to meet hers. "You know that, right?"  
  
"Of course I do."  
  
"I just don't want to see you get hurt. Not by him. Not again."  
  
Buffy smiled, then stepped in and pulled him into a hug. "I kinda think Spike and I are through hurting each other."  
  
Xander tightened his embrace. "God, I hope you're right."  
  
"Me too." Buffy pulled away. "There's some ... stuff ... about all this that you don't know. I'm not even sure about it myself, but ... when I get home, explanations will be forthcoming. Okay?"  
  
Xander looked like it was killing him not to argue, but finally he nodded. "Okay. Just, be careful?"  
  
"I will." She squeezed his hand, then let go and headed for the crypt.  
  
It didn't matter that she hadn't been there in over a month. Her feet still carried her there on instinct, without her having to think about it. She stepped up to the door and put her hand against it, then paused. All of those times she'd just barged in, no thought to whether she would be welcome or if she'd come at a bad time ... Over the summer, the few times she'd had occasion to visit Clem, she'd taken to knocking. Because it was polite. Because it was common courtesy. Didn't she owe Spike the same consideration? It would be so easy for them to fall back into their old habits. Things had to change for them, and those changes had to start somewhere.  
Buffy let go of the handle, raised her hand, and knocked. It took a while for him to open the door. When he did, the first thing she noticed was that he didn't look like he'd been in a fight, but a _war_. All haggard and weary and scarred -- inside, if not on the outside. Though his outside had gotten some damage too, judging from the fresh bandages covering his bare torso.  
  
The second thing she noticed was the way he looked at her. Like he'd never been happier to see her. Like she'd never looked more beautiful or more precious to him. Like he longed for nothing more than to fall into her arms and forget everything that he'd just been through. And it hit Buffy -- that other life, the way things could've gone down between them. At that moment she felt this Spike's love just as keenly as she felt the other one's hatred, and she didn't know what she, right there and then, felt in return. Then it passed, and all of the pain this one had endured -- both because of her and for her -- washed over her, and she knew. And she wanted nothing more than to oblige him.  
  
But then a wall of caution went up over that longing. Buffy felt her certainty dwindle to a faint glimmer of an idea of what she truly felt for him that, given time, could grow into certainty once again. If they could just not screw it up this time.  
  
Spike stiffened, almost imperceptibly, but Buffy could feel the tension. "Well, that was fast," he said, turning away from her and going back into the crypt. He left the door open. Buffy followed him in.  
  
"What was fast?"  
He looked around for something, then picked up a dark gray pullover from his chair and started to pull it on, wincing as he lifted his arms overhead. Buffy resisted the impulse to help him.  
  
"Figured I at least had until morning before Harris tattled about the chip."  
  
"That's not why I'm here."  
  
"It's not? You mean, he didn't --"  
  
"He told me," she said, shutting the door behind her. She shrugged. "Guess it's a good thing you've got that soul, huh?"  
  
Spike froze midway through tucking in his shirt, then he recovered and nodded as if remembering something.  
  
"So," Buffy said, stepping down into the crypt, "were you ever gonna share that particular piece of news?"  
  
"I was. In due time." Buffy moved to stand next to him. She wanted to look into his eyes. He held her gaze for the briefest moment, then swallowed and turned away from her. "Guess the Bit beat me to it." He went to the back of the crypt and started packing up the first aid supplies spread out on the sarcophagus. "Shoulda known she couldn't keep something that big a secret."  
  
"Wait a minute -- Dawn knew?"  
  
Spike looked panicked. "Well, I mean ... she came to see me earlier. Gave me a right telling off, she did. It, um, it might've come up." He fiddled with a roll of gauze. "So ... how is she? She all right?"  
  
"She's good." Buffy stood next to the chair and pulled at a loose thread. "She's existing and everything."  
  
Spike's eyes narrowed as he turned to face her. "How did you know about my soul, Buffy?"  
  
"Funny you should ask." She abandoned the thread and started to approach him, slowly. "See, I woke up on my porch a little while ago with this whole other set of memories. Memories of things that never happened, and of ... other things, that I think maybe did."  
  
Spike's eyes widened in astonishment. "You remember ..."  
  
Buffy nodded. "So do you. That was my -- _her_ -- second wish. For us to remember."  
  
His mouth drew into a grim line. "Guess she got her vengeance after all."  
  
"No. No, that's not why she did it." She reached him and started to help pack up the first aid kit.   
  
Spike moved away from her, putting the sarcophagus between them. He kept his eyes cast down, away from hers. "How much do you remember?" he asked softly.  
  
"All of it."  
  
Spike squeezed his eyes shut and leaned against the tomb.  
  
"Some if it's kinda fuzzy, though," she went on, "like trying to remember the details of a dream. But other parts are really clear, like I lived them. The empathy spell, the fight ..."  
  
"What I did to you?" He finally met her eyes, and Buffy flinched at the pain there. God, this was tearing him apart.  
  
She shook her head. "What _he_ did to _her_."  
  
Spike barked out a laugh. "Yeh, right. Big difference."  
  
"Actually, yeah. It is."  
  
He closed his eyes. "I almost did that to _you_, Pet."  
  
"You didn't."  
  
"Because you stopped me."  
  
"But that ..." Buffy took a deep breath to steady her voice. "It wasn't the same thing."  
  
"Wasn't it?"  
  
"No! That -- the things he did to her -- it came from a different place. From hatred. God, that Spike hated her as much as ... as much as you love me."  
  
He opened his eyes, but he wouldn't look at her. He just stared at a spot on the tomb. Then he shook his head. "The important thing is that that's in _me_."  
  
Buffy sighed. "Spike, don't take this the wrong way, but ... you're a _vampire_. I always believed that sort of thing was in you. The only surprise for me is that you _didn't_. And the _important_ thing is that you won't ever do anything like that again. Will you."  
  
"No. God, no."  
  
She made her way around the tomb to him, thinking of the despair he'd felt, both after he'd left her in the bathroom and after he'd broken the link during the empathy spell. And as he lay on the floor of that cave after winning back his soul. For so long, despair was all he knew. And he did that for her. As she reached him, she realized she needed to say all of this as much as he needed to hear it. Before he could pull away again, she grabbed his arm, then put her hands on his shoulders and turned him to face her.  
  
"Spike, look at me. I'm ..." She swallowed. "I'm sorry."  
  
He furrowed his brow and shook his head. "What --"  
  
"Sh. Let me talk." She let go of him, but she held him with her eyes. "We both did things to each other that were inexcusable. But hopefully they're not unforgivable. I already know you're sorry. I want you to know that I am, too."  
  
He stiffened a little, and lifted his chin. "So. I've a soul now, means I'm real. Suddenly my feelings matter. That it?"  
  
"No, that's not --"  
  
"'Cause I got news for you, Sweetheart. I'm the same as I was before. I mean, sure I'm all conscience-having and what-all, but the things I feel?" He put his hand over his heart. "That hasn't changed."  
  
"I know that."  
  
"Do you?"  
  
Buffy folded her arms. "You know what else hasn't changed? You're still an _idiot_."  
  
"Ooh, nice apology. Your sincerity has truly touched my soul."  
  
She whacked him in the chest, knocking him back a few steps. "Shut up and listen!"  
  
He rubbed his chest and glared, but held his tongue.  
  
Rubbing her forehead, Buffy sighed. "Look, Spike, I _know_ how angry you've been with me, and how frustrated. I know how much you loved me. That it was real, and that I was stupid not to see that. And I know how much I hurt you." She heard her voice crack, and felt the prick of tears stinging her eyes. "I know because I felt it. I told you I remember the empathy spell. The things I did to you, everything I put you through ... I can feel it like it happened to me. And I'm so sorry!"  
  
Spike just watched her, his face, for once, void of expression. Then his lips curled into a sad smile. "I don't want your pity, Buffy."  
  
Buffy actually laughed at that. "You big dummy. Would you stop feeling sorry for yourself for two seconds and _hear _what I'm saying to you?" She walked back up to him and took his face in her hands. His jaw clenched. She could see him struggling to keep his expression neutral.  
  
"Spike, last year, when all I wanted to do was crawl back into my grave and stay there, you were there for me. _You_ made my life bearable." She paused to let that sink in, to gauge his reaction. She thought she could see tiny, hairline cracks in his veneer. "I want to do the same for you. Not because I feel sorry for you, or because I want to even the score. I needed somebody to understand me, and I had you for that. And now you need somebody to understand what you're going through. Well I do understand, because I _felt_ it. I _know_. And I want to be here for you because I care. I _care_ about you, Spike, and you _deserve_ to have somebody here for you."  
  
The veneer shattered then, falling away completely. His face twisted up as he choked back a sob. Buffy pulled him to her and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Let it out," she told him, and he did. "I'm here, Spike." She stroked his hair as he clung to her and cried. "You're home, and I'm here." He buried his face against her neck and fisted a hand in her hair. Eventually his shoulders stopped shaking. For a moment he was still; then he tightened his arms around her, and they just held each other.  
  
It occured to Buffy that this was their first official hug. She giggled.  
  
Spike pulled back and looked at her suspisciously, and a little self-consciously. "What?"  
  
She shook her head and reached up to wipe his cheek. "Nothing."  
  
His eyes narrowed. "Anybody ever tell you you got a morbid sense of humor, Pet?"  
  
Buffy snorted. "Like you're one to talk."  
  
Spike smiled. Then he turned serious. "So what happens now?"  
  
Buffy shrugged. "We figure out how to get over it?"  
  
He nodded. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet, looking for all the world like a shy little boy. "We do that together?"  
  
God, he sounded so hopeful. A few months ago, her first instinct would have been to quash that hope with every weapon in her arsenal. But tonight she realized she had no reason to. She nodded. "I'm gonna need some time," she told him. "I mean, all this new information ... I have to sort through it all, figure out what it means."  
  
"Right. 'Course."  
  
Buffy remembered something. "I also made a wish tonight, you know. _Me_ me, not the other me. Of course, I didn't make _mine_ out loud to a vengeance demon, because _I_ don't happen to be a dumbass." She smiled to let him know she'd meant that as a gentle admonishment. Not that that prevented a dirty look from him. "But I wished for things to be simpler. I'm not sure how yet, 'cause God knows there are a lot of weird memories to sort out; but underneath it all ... I think I got my wish."  
  
She looked into his eyes one last time, and saw that he was all right. Confident he would stay that way after she left, she turned to go. She opened the door and for a moment just stood there, looking out into the night, breathing in the fresh air. Something out there probably needed to be slain. Her best friend and her mystical sister waited for her at home, where one was hopefully fast asleep and the other was confused and worried, and in need of a good talking to. A vampire stood behind her, dealing with his own pain and, she was sure, wishing like hell that she could stay with him just a little longer. Not just a vampire, but a man who loved her, who she was in serious danger of loving in return. It was a possibility now, of that much she was certain. Maybe even an eventuality. Calling it an inevitability wouldn't necessarily be crazy talk.  
  
It wasn't a perfect world, but it was hers. At that moment, she felt truly grateful to live in it.  
  
She turned back to find Spike watching her. "Xander's with Dawn," she said, "so I don't have to hurry home. I thought, since I'm up, I might get in a quick patrol."  
  
He nodded. "Sound thinking."  
  
"Wanna come with?"  
  
Spike broke into a wide grin. Then he looked away from her. "Yeh," he said, obviously struggling to regain his cool. "Just let me grab a smoke." He retrieved his coat from the chair. When he picked it up, a lone cigarette fell out. Spike picked it up and gazed at it for a long time, running his thumb over the tip. He looked up at Buffy, and she raised an eyebrow. With a wink, he popped it in his mouth and lit it.  
  
"Let's go fight that good fight," he said, and followed her out the door.  
  
***  
  
END, PERFECT WORLD  
  
  
Notes: I could tell which of my betas don't read Harry Potter, 'cause they all tried to tell me "disapparate" isn't a word.  
  
Anyway. Thanks to all and sundry for the encouragement and cheering on, and for the feedback. And huge, massive props to all of my beta-readers.  
  
I told some archive people that they could have this fic when it's done. So sorry, but I don't remember who. You're welcome to it, just drop me a note at cousinjean@hotmail.com and let me know where it's going.  
  
I worked up a rough & dirty timeline for the Adamverse before I started this fic. I'll get it cleaned up and post it as an appendix, so if you're interested watch for that.  
  
Thanks for reading! 


End file.
